STAUNCH 
OFHE\RT 


m 

miUrVM 


.A 


STAUNCH  OF  HEART 

OR, 

ADRIEN  LEROY'S  SACRIFICE 


»Y 

CHARLES  GARVICE 

iuthot  of  "So  Nearly  Lost,"  "Lorrie,"  "Claire,"  "Her  Ransom,"  "Elaioc  ~ 
"A  Wasted  Love,"  "A  Woman's  Soul,"  etc. 


CHICAGO: 
M.    A.    DONOHUE   &    Co. 


STAUNCH  OF  HEART. 


CHAPTER  I. 
"UNFORTUNATE;  JASPER." 

Now  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite 

And  health  on  both.  SHAKESPEARB. 

The  lamplighters  were  flitting  through  Pall  Mall,  the 
shimmer  of  wax  candles  commenced  to  glimmer  from  the 
huge  windows  of  the  clubhouses,  and  the  rattle  of  the 
carriages  as  they  sped  homeward  on  St.  James'  stones  pro- 
claimed that  the  dinner  hour  of  the  great  ones  of  the 
earth  was  at  hand. 

At  the  entrance  to  one  of  the  largest  of  the  Grecian 
temples  men's  devotion  to  the  god  luxury  had  reared,  two 
gentlemen  stood  arm  in  arm,  looking  down  the  broad 
pavement  westward. 

"Seven!"  said  one,  as  the  nearest  church  gave  forth 
the  hour.  "Child  said  seven,  did  he  not?" 

"Yes,  and  meant,  like  the  auctioneers,  half-past,"  re- 
turned the  other,  hiding  a  yawn  behind  his  exquisitely- 
gloved  hand.  "Chud's  too  young  to  value  his  dinner 
properly,  but  Manners  is  not,  and  he  ought  to  be  punctual. 
Hello !  here  he  is,"  and  as  a  slightly-built  but  exceedingly 
carefully-dressed  young  gentleman  alighted  from  a 
brougham  the  speaker  nodded  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Hello !"  said  the  new  arrival,  shaking  hands,  "you  two 
fellows  first  ?    I  say,  Shelton,  I  hope  the  others  won't  be  ' 
late ;  I'm  hungry  as  a  hunter." 

"Ah,  that's  right;  but  what  about  us  who  were  here 
first  ?"  said  he  whom  he  had  addressed — Mortimer  Shelton 
by  name,  a  cynic  by  nature.  "Of  course  they'll  be  late — 
Chud  very  possibly,  and  Adrien  for  certain.  Ton  m^ 

• 

2135S29 


4  Staunch  of  Heart. 

soul  it's  the  most  uncomfortable  way  of  getting  a  dinner, 
this  feeding  in  herds  and  flocks.  Come  along,  one  may 
as  well  be  miserable  inside  as  in  this  beastly  draught." 

With  a  laugh  at  his  real  or  assumed  ill  temper  the  other 
two  followed  him  up  the  broad  steps,  through  the  heavy 
swinging  doors,  into  the  Grecian  vestibule,  with  its 
mosaics  and  statuary,  and  thence  by  way  of  the  ante- 
room to  the  grand  dining  saloon  of  the  Thesasian  Club. 

The  snowy-covered  tables  were  rapidly  filling,  the  mem- 
bers were  dropping  in  to  their  luxurious  repast ;  servants, 
silent,  fleet  of  foot  and  deft  of  hand,  were  ministering  to 
their  wants  and  answering  or  asking  questions  with  low- 
ered voices.  At  the  reading  stands  a  few  men  with  their 
hands  behind  their  dress-coat  tails  were  scanning  with 
eager  or  indifferent  eyes  the  evening  papers,  and  at  all 
three  fireplaces  were  little  knots  of  exquisites  discussing 
something — or  more  probably  nothing — with  slow  and 
well-bred  drawl. 

The  three  friends,  Frank  Parselle,  Mortimer  Shelton, 
and  Percy  Manners,  made  their  way  to  a  table  in  a  com- 
fortable recess  and  seated  themselves  with  characteristic 
expressions. 

"Cold  to-night;  fires  look  comfortable,"  said  Frank 
Parselle,  looking  around  and  responding  to  numerous 
nods  in  kind. 

"Yes,  colder  than  it  has  been  for  some  days ;  makes  one 
hungry,"  said  Percy  Manners,  the  gourmet  and  epicure. 

"Cold  and  miserable,"  concluded  Mortimer  Shelton, 
turning  a  yawn  into  a  half-muttered  growl.  "Beastly 
weather.  But  what  can  you  expect  of  this  climate  ?  Ten 
minutes  past  seven !  The  air  is  incompatible  with  punctu- 
ality, I  suppose.  How  foolish  I  was  to  expect  that  idiot 
Ch'ud  to  his  time.  I  might  have  had  another  cigar  at 
chambers." 

"And  lost  the  luxury  of  a  growl,  old  fellow,"  inter- 
rupted Manners.  "Shall  we  wait?'" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Frank  Parselle,  "Chud's  a  good  fellow, 
and  Adrien  might  not  take  it  smoothly,  you  know." 

"Then  why  the  deuce  can't  he  keep  his  time  ?"  muttered 
Mortimer.  "I'm  never  late  for  dinner." 

"Nobody  would  wait  for  you,  old  boy,"  laughed  Man- 


Staunch  of  Heart.  5 

ners.  "It's  a  great  bore,  though.  But  here's  one  of 
them." 

He  broke  off  as  one  of  the  unpunctual  ones  sauntered 
in  and  looked  around  the  room  with  languid,  leisurely 
gaze. 

Mortimer  touched  the  table  sharply  with  a  fork  and  the 
searcher  bent  his  eyes  that  way  and  came  up. 

"Hello !  you  fellows  here  already  ?"  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
tone  of  genuine  surprise. 

"Now  where  do  you  suppose  we  should  be — staring  at 
Nelson's  column,  or  in  North  America  ?  It's  ten  minutes 
past  seven,"  said  Mortimer,  making  room  for  him  and 
stroking  his  mustache  peevishly. 

"Is  it,  though,  really?  By  Jove,  I  thought  it  had  not 
struck  yet.  I  must  get  that  watch  of  mine  seen  to." 

"Better  pitch  it  behind  the  fire,"  snapped  Mortimer. 
"That  watch  of  yours  belonged  to  your  grandfather, 
didn't  it,  Chud  ?  Well,  I  wish  your  people  had  buried  it 
with  him.  It's  the  eternal  nuisance  to  all  your  friends. 
I'll  buy  it  of  you." 

"No,  you  won't,"  laughed  Chudleigh  Ireton,  seating 
himself  and  taking  stock  of  the  room. 

"And  now  where's  Leroy  ?"  said  Shelton,  with  a  plain- 
tive sigh  of  resignation.  "  Ton  my  word,  this  is  too  bad. 
The  trouble  I  took  to  make  the  carte  attractive.  The  soup 
will  be  thick  as  mud,  the  turbot  boiled  to  wool,  and  you 
know  what  Antoine  is  if  the  entrees  stand ' 

"Ah,  by  Jove,  we're  waiting  for  Leroy,  of  course.  By 
jingo!  I'd  forgotten,"  said  Chudleigh,  as  if  visited  by  a 
sudden  attack  of  memory.  "I  met  Leroy  at  Brook's  yes- 
terday, and  he  asked  me  to  tell  you  that  he  was  off  to 
Barminster  Castle  last  night,  and  might  be  late.  We  were 
not  to  wait,  and,  if  I  haven't  left  it  in  my  other  coat,  here's 
a  note  explaining,  old  fellow." 

Mortimer  Shelton  uttered  an  expletive  upon  the  note, 
and,  before  reading  it,  ordered  dinner  to  be  served  at 
once. 

"Heaven  forgive  me  this  once,  never  again  will  I  sin 
against  myself  in  this  way!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why  on 
earth  couldn't  you  be  punctual?  But  being  here  at  last, 
why  couldn't  you  deliver  Leroy's  message  ?  Chud,  you  are 


6  Staunch  of  Heart. 

incorrigible  and  incurable.     Now  what  does  this  fellow- 
say? 

"  'My  dear  Mortimer,  a  letter  from  Jasper  takes  me 
down  to  the  castle,  posthaste.  But  I  will  return  to  join 
your  little  party,  and,  by  your  gracious  leave,  bring  Jasper 
with  me.  You  will  not,  I  trust,  delay  even  the  soup  for 
the  space  of  Chudleigh's  watch-tick. 

"  'Yours,  not,  I  hope,  unfaithfully, 

ADRIEN  LEROY." 

"Always  Jasper,"  commented  Percy  Manners.  "It  is  a 
perpetual  enigma  to  me  by  what  means  Jasper  Vermont 
obtained  and  retains  his  influence  over  Leroy." 

"No  enigma,  but  as  plain  as  the  most  ordinary  of  pike- 
staffs," said  Mortimer.  "But  this  is  like  Leroy,  confound 
him !  In  the  old  days — I  wish  they  were  back — one  could 
call  a  man  out  for  keeping  one's  dinner  waiting." 

"And  be  shot  for  your  trouble,"  laughed  Manners,  "we 
know  what  sort  of  a  hand  Leroy  is  at  the  trigger,  he'd  cut 
your  last  growl  short,  old  fellow." 

The  rest  laughed,  Mortimer  joining  them,  but  more 
quietly. 

"That's  true,  and  I'm  not  so  stupid  as  to  deny  it,  as  you 
expected,  Percy.  And,  by  Heaven,  I  think  Adrien  Leroy 
owes  his  exemption  to  that  same  facility  for  dead  leveling, 
as  poor  Savant  used  to  call  it.  But  here's  the  soup." 

"And  not  thick,  either;  that's  good  of  Antoine,"  said 
Percy. 

And  for  a  little  while  all  was  silence  save  the  click  of 
the  spoons  and  the  rustle  of  the  napkins. 

"Ah,  I  feel  that  I  may  linger  on  after  that,"  said  Percy, 
"and  if  the  turbot  and  'to-follow'  correspond  in  excel- 
lence and  nutrition  I  may  recover  entirely " 

"And  so  plunge  your  country  into  mourning,"  wound 
up  Mortimer.  "I  hope  we  shall  get  through  the  fish  and 
an  entree  or  two  before  Jasper  arrives.  I  don't  like  him 
enough  to  wish  him  to  share  Antoine's  benediction,"  he 
added,  eying  his  portion  of  fish  with  critical  satisfaction. 

"That's  candid,"  laughed  Chudleigh.  "I  thought  you 
said  the  other  night  at  the  Veronas'  that  speech  was  given 
us  to  hide  our  thoughts,  eh,  philosopher  ?" 


Staunch  of  Heart.  7 

"I  said  it,  but  I  am  not  aware  that  I  asked  you  to  be- 
lieve it  or  imagine  that  I  did  myself,"  said  Mortimer; 
"candor  is  a  virtue " 

"Too  frail  to  be  tempted,"  concluded  Parselle. 

"  Ton  my  soul  that's  good  for  you,  Frank/'  retorted 
Mortimer.  ''Somebody  said  you  were  writing  a  comedy, 
and  I  gave  them  direct  contradiction.  I'll  have  to  apolo- 
gize, I  suppose." 

"Wisdom  cometh  from  thee,"  nodded  the  quiet  Frank, 
with  a  smile.  "But  about  Jasper,  as  we  haven't  got  him 
to  flatter  let's  worry  his  character.  On  what  grounds 
rests  your  dislike,  oh,  philosopher  ?" 

"On  what  grounds  rests  your  affection  for  salmi  of 
pheasant?"  snapped  Mortimer.  "Though  you  have  de- 
voured two-thirds  of  the  dish,  you  can't  give  a  reason,  and 
on  like  principle  I  can't  say,  or  won't,  why  I  cherish  a  pet 
antipathy  to  our  friend  Jasper." 

"A  pet  antipathy,  and  that's  about  it,"  nodded  Manners, 
"If  put  to  the  vote  I  believe  none  of  us  would  cry  for 
Vermont  and  yet  there  is  nothing  against  him  in  look, 
word  or  deed.  He's  a  good  fellow." 

"Well  bred,"  said  Chudleigh. 

"Easy  and  knows  a  horse  from  a  shorthorn,"  added 
Frank.  "And  is  Adrien  Leroy's  fast  friend." 

"That's  it!"  said  Percy.     "That  puzzles  me " 

"Tush,"  said  Mortimer,  motioning  for  the  wine.  "Why 
should  it?  Years  ago  at  Eton  or  Oxford  Adrien  Leroy 
saved  Jasper  Vermont's  life ;  don't  worry  me  to  tell  you. 
how,  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care.  He  saved  his  life 
saved  ajsper  Vermont's  life;  don't  worry  me  to  tell  you 
If  a  dog,  a  cat,  or  a  one-eyed  monkey  placed  himself 
under  his  protection  Adrien  would  stick  to  him  through 
life — and  death  if  he  could.  This  Jasper,  with  all  his 
quiet,  easy  ways  and  lazy  smile  is  neither  a  sloth  nor  a 
bird  of  paradise.  I've  seen  tigers — and  shot  'em.  Claws 
beneath  velvet ;  soft  lips  hide  sharp  teeth.  Pass  the  sauce." 

"And  so  you  think  Jasper  has  more  of  the  tiger  than 
the  tabby  cat,  and  more  of  the  raven  than  the  domestic 
hen?"  said  Manners.  And  yet  Adrien  is  sharp  enough. 
Did  any  one  ever  hear  of  his  being  deceived  by  man, 
woman  or  child  ?  By  Jove,  I  believe  one  quiet  glance  from 


S  Staunch  of  Heart. 

those  eyes  of  his  would  take  it  out  of  them  in  half  a 
minute.  Adrien  is  no  fool." 

"Every  man  has  one  weak  side;  Achilles'  heel  ruined 
him,  little  use  steel-plating  everywhere  else  if  they  left  that 
little  corner  for  Paris'  arrow.  But  classics  are  wasted  on 
you  fellows ;  the  whole  secret  lies  in  the  fact  that  Adrien 
Leroy  once  befriended  Jasper  Vermont  and  that,  conse- 
quently, he  will  believe  no  ill  of  the  aforesaid  Jasper." 

"Lucky  fellow  this  Jasper,  let  matters  between  him  and 
Leroy  be  as  they  may,"  said  Percy.  "He's  a  steward,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  to  Adrien,  and  all  the  money  passes 
through  his  hands.  And  what  a  mint  it  is!  There's  no 
knowing  how  rich  Leroy  may  be.  My  governor  says  a 
million.  He  knows  Lord  Leroy  and  goes  down  to  the  castle 
for  a  week  in  the  off  season.  It's  a  palace  and  the  baron 
is  a  sort  of  king.  Grand  reception-rooms,  miles  of  pic- 
ture gallery,  a  guard  at  arms  in  the  corridors,  and  an 
army  of  retainers  in  silk  and  satin." 

Mortimer  nodded. 

"A  shadow  of  the  ancient  glory,"  he  said,  in  his  curt 
way.  "Provis  tells  of  how  William  the  Fourth  turned 
green  with  jealousy  when  they  ushered  him  into  the  state 
apartment. 

"  'This  beats  my  palace,  Leroy,'  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"Leroy  bowed  but  he  didn't  contradict.  And,  by 
Heaven !  he  wouldn't  cry  second  even  to  his  king  where  he 
thought  himself  first  You  know  what  the  prince  said 
when  he  saw  the  Leroy  arms  on  Adrien's  coach. 

"  'I'd  change  that  lozenge  if  I  were  you,  Leroy,  and  put 
it  thus:  His  satanic  majesty  on  a  throne,  the  Pope  on 
one  above,  and  a  Leroy  on  another  above  all — motto, 
"Proud,  prouder,  proudest." 

"  'I  shall  be  proud  to  receive  your  highness'  sketch/ 
said  Adrien,  but  the  prince  was  right;  if  there  is  any 
superlative  in  the  article  the  Leroys  have  it.  They  are  as 
proud  as  the  highest  of  the  Caesars.  There's  no  bar  sin- 
ister across  their  badge  and  they  know  it.  The  lowest  of 
their  race  would  sooner  jump  into  that  fire — and  stop  there 
— than  do  or  countenance  a  dirty  action.  They  treat 
money  as  if  it  were  the  dross  moralists  would  have  us 
consider  it.  They  bow  the  knee  to  nothing  save  royalty 


Staunch  of  Heart.  9 

and  women.  They  love  madly,  hate  passionately  where 
the  object  of  their  dislike  is  too  near  equality  to  be  treated 
with  contempt.  And  what  contempt  it  is !  Remember  that 
snob,  Parkley;  since  that  day  he  interrupted  Adrien  and 
got  that  killing  stare  he  has  never  shown  head — it's  my 
belief  he's  hanged  himself.  And  yet  with  all  his  pride, 
there's  no  faster,  firmer  friend  than  Leroy " 

"As  Jasper  Vermont  can  testify,"  said  Frank 

"That's  so,"  nodded  Mortimer.  "And  now,  after  that 
exhaustive  analysis  of  the  Leroy  temperament,  have  the 
goodness  to  pass  the  Cliquot." 

"I  saw  Haidee  in  the  park  this  morning,"  said  Chud- 
leigh,  wiping  his  mustache  and  regarding  the  pate  affec- 
tionately. "Such  furs!  The  rest  of  the  dear  creatures 
were  filled  with  envy.  In  that  quarter  Leroy  certainly 
treats  the  precious  coin  as  dross." 

"And  bestows  it  perhaps  on  the  principle  of  dust  to 
dust,"  remarked  Mortimer,  with  a  cynical  smile. 

"Haidee  should  hear  that,"  said  Manners,  laughing 
with  the  rest.  "In  all  her  sweetness  those  eyes  of  hers 
can  fire,  let  me  tell  you.  Now,  she's  a  tigress,  I  believe. 
She  makes  me  tremble  every  time  I  go  near  her,  such  a 
thirsty,  insatiable  animal.  It's  well  for  Leroy  that  the 
figures  are  seven ;  anything  less  than  a  million  would  come 
to  grief." 

"What  do  you  think  little  Bella  at  the  Casket  told  me?" 
said  Parselle,  leaning  forward  and  speaking  in  a  lower 
key. 

"Some  nonsense,  I  suppose,"  said  Mortimer. 

"That  Leroy  had  made  the  theatre  over  to  Haidee  and 
settled  a  thousand  a  year  upon  her." 

"Very  likely,"  was  Mortimer's  comment.  "When  a 
man  is  idiot  enough  to  buy  such  an  expensive  toy  as  a 
theatre  for  his  favorites,  and  engages  to  pay  for  the  per- 
petual repairing  and  gilding  of  the  toy,  it  is  only  reason- 
able to  conclude  that  he  would  be  glad  to  hand  it  over  in 
toto,  and  the  Casket  costs  Leroy  three  times  that  amount. 
Five  thousand,  ah,  eight  thousand  a  year,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  ladf  manager.  And  all  for  a  whim !  It  would  be 
money  in  his  pocket  if  the  place  were  burned  down,  and  I 
sometimes  think  I'll  bring  a  box  of  patent  matches  and 


IO  Staunch  of  Heart. 

manage  it  for  him.  If  I  could  only  shut  the  butterflies  up 
in  the  dainty  trap  and  suffocate  them  in  the  bargain !" 

"Hush !"  whispered  Chudleigh  Ireton ;  "here  he  is." 

All  looked  around  with  a  smile  of  expectation.  Two 
gentlemen  had  just  entered. 

The  one  a  dark,  smooth-faced  man,  with  small,  sleepy- 
looking  eyes,  thick  lips,  and  a  set  smile  that  was  a  cast  be- 
tween the  simper  of  a  monkey  and  the  somniferous  tran- 
quility  one  sees  upon  the  broad  face  of  a  dozing  cat.  His 
hair,  dark  almost  to  black,  was  smoothed  to  a  plain,  un» 
ruffled  surface ;  he  wore  no  mustache,  whiskers,  or  beard, 
yet  for  all  the  seeming  openness  of  the  fact  if  studied  care- 
fully there  seemed  something  kept  back  and  made  sub- 
servient to  the  easy  character  which  the  owner  wished  to 
establish  in  society.  That  was  Jasper  Vermont. 

His  companion  was  of  a  very  different  order  of  hu- 
manity. Tall,  of  exquisite  proportion,  of  that  reposeful, 
leisurely  grace  which  one  generally  attaches  to  royalty; 
with  a  handsome  and,  what  is  more,  noble  face,  stamped 
with  the  old-world  hauteur  of  his  race,  and  rendered  more 
than  commonly  beautiful  by  his  unfrequent  but  wonderful 
smile;  with  bright,  golden-hued  hair  that  fell  in  short, 
thick,  luxuriant  curls  upon  his  white  brow,  and  with  eyes 
that  were  at  once  piercingly  searching  and  proudly  tran- 
quil, the  contrast  was  heightened  to  a  pitch  almost  of  ab- 
surdity. 

That  was  Adrien  Leroy,  only  son  of  Baron  Leroy  of 
Barminster  Castle,  the  idol  of  society,  the  toast  of  the 
men,  and  the  divinity  of  the  female  butterflies. 

When  a  man  is  liked  and  looked  up  to  by  his  male 
friends,  and  worshiped  by  the  women  folk,  there  is  some- 
thing more  than  common  in  him,  and  something  worthy 
of  attention. 

Carefully  dressed,  as  a  man  should  be  whose  valet  takes 
a  higher>  salary  than  a  first-class  city  clerk,  with  diamond 
sleeve  links,  a  suit  of  black  pearl  studs  for  jewelry,  his 
graceful,  column-like  neck  free  and  unhampered  by  his 
loose,  well-setting  collar,  Adrien  Leroy  would  have  been 
an  exquisite  but  for  that  nameless  air  of  dignity  and  high- 
bred heroism  which  cast  the  foppery  in  the  background 
and  brought  the  manhood  to  the  front. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  il 

No  sooner  had  the  door  swung  behind  them  than  a 
small  group  had  collected  around  the  popular  idol,  and  a 
buzz  of  salutation  arose  like  the  hum  of  bees  hovering 
about  a  honey-laden  flower. 

With  the  genial,  open-hearted  smile,  but  with  the  half- 
mournful,  dreamy,  and  slightly  weary  expression  in, 
the  dark,  fathomless  eyes,  Adrien  Leroy  answered 
the  numerous  questions,  parried  the  as  numerous 
invitations  to  turn  aside  for  a  moment,  and,  still  leaning 
on  Jasper  Vermont's  arm,  made  his  way  toward  the  table 
where  his  friends  were  waiting. 

"You  may  tell  a  man  by  his  walk,"  says  Machiavelli, 
"not  only  by  the  tenor  of  his  way  through  life,  but  by  the 
actual  gait  and  mien." 

Jasper  Vermont's  walk  partook  of  the  quiet,  sleek  tread 
which  is  more  obtrusive  than  a  loud  tramp  and  more  art-i 
noying. 

Adrien  Leroy  trod  the  ground  with  the  light,  leisurely 
tread  of  a  man  free,  born  to  command;  no  hurry — let 
his  motions  be  quick  as  they  might;  no  uncertainty, 
though  he  lingered  to  exchange  a  word,  but  the  calm, 
regular  stride  of  a  man  strong  in  himself  and  of  conscious 
equality  with,  if  not  superiority  to,  his  fellows. 

"We  are  late !"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  low  but  clear 
and  incisive  as  the  fourth  bell  in  a  cathedral  peal.  "Blame 
Jasper,  who,  if  he  is  as  hungry  as  I  am,  is  punished  in  the 
sinning.  Soup  gone  and  Chudleigh  dispatching  the  last 
ortolan!  Jasper,  we  have  arrived  at  the  obsequies  of  a 
good  repast." 

The  rest — the  two  having  seated  themselves — joined  in 
his  low,  clear  laugh,  and  Mortimer,  whose  brow  always 
lost  something  of  its  severity  in  Adrien  Leroy's  presence, 
beckoned  the  waiter. 

"Tell  Antoine  Mr.  Leroy  and  Vermont  have  arrived. 

"See,  I  am  more  thoughtful  for  you  than  you  deserve, 
and  Antoine  has  kept  back  a  fair  quantity  of  the  good  the 
gods  have  sent  us.  I  dare  not  have  mentioned  it  before, 
or  Chud  would  have  devoured  it  in  addition  to  his  own. 
And  you  have  just  come  from  Barminster,  and  how  is  the 
castle  looking,  Jasper?" 

"Beautiful!"  replied  Jasper  Vermont,  with  a  smile  be- 


12  Staunch  of  Heart. 

stowed  impartially  upon  all,  and  that  showed  his  white 
teeth  to  perfection.  "Beautiful.  It's  a  charming  view, 
eh,  Adrien  ?  Charming,  but  we  saw  little  of  it  this  visit — 
a  flying  one,  a  flying  one.  Ah,  what,  Shelton,  you  are  an 
epicure  worthy  of  Dioclesian.  We  never  get  clear  turtle 
at  the  Alkestra  like  this,  eh,  Adrien  ?"  and  with  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  smile  he  nodded  at  his  friend. 

"No,"  said  Adrien  Leroy,  looking  up.  "But  we  have 
not  our  celebrated  Mortimer  on  the  committee.  No  won- 
der they  love  you  here,  Mortimer !  And  so  the  little  colt 
has  lost  the  Norfolk  steeplechase.  I  saw  the  news  as  I 
came  down." 

"And  you  have  lost — how  much,  two  thousand  ?"  said 
Parselle. 

"Five,"  said  Jasper  Vermont,  answering  for  him,  not 
quickly,  but  just  before  Adrien  could  speak. 

"Is  it  five?"  said  Leroy,  with  perfect  indifference.  "I 
thought  I  had  backed  the  Venus  for  more." 

"And  on  the  faith  of  that  I  backed  her  for  a  couple 
of  hundred,"  said  Chudleigh,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders. "She  is  a  beautiful  creature,  and  now  I  suppose  I 
must  buy  her.  Will  you  sell  her  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Adrien,  "you  shall  have  him,  my  dear 
Chud,  for  a  song." 

"Of  a  very  few  verses,"  again  interrupted  Jasper  Ver- 
mont, opening  his  lips  with  a  smooth  smile.  "She  is 
sold." 

"Sold  to  whom,"  said  Adrien,  in  a  tone  that  was  almost 
surprise. 

The  rest  looked  up  in  surprise ;  the  colt  was  an  acknowl- 
edged favorite  of  Adrien  Leroy's  and  every  one  knew  that 
Chudleigh  had  asked  for  the  refusal. 

"Sold,"  echoed  Chudleigh,  looking  rather  disappointed 
and  glancing  rather  haughtily  at  the  smooth,  amiable  face 
opposite  him. 

"To  the  knacker.  You  forget,  Adrien ;  Fording  threw 
her  and  broke  her  leg  at  the  last  hurdle." 

"Ah,  so  you  told  me;  I  had  forgotten.  Chudleigh.  I 
am  very  sorry,  but  you  have  saved  your  money.  If 
Fording  could  do  nothing  with  her  she  was  no  use  to  you. 
Have  any  of  you  seen  the  papers?  Last  night  was  the 


Staunch  of  Heart.  13 

first  of  the  new  comedy  at  the  Casket;  has  it  gone  well?" 

Frank  Parselle  laughed. 

"I  was  there,  but  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  tell  you.  Haidee 
played  finely — all  fire  and  effervescence.  But  they  hissed 
once  or  twice." 

The  others  laughed. 

"Lost  on  my  horse  and  my  new  play !  That  is  luck.  It 
must  be  withdrawn." 

"Certainly,"  said  Jasper,  comfortably.     "Certainly." 

"By  Jove!  what  did  you  tell  me  the  mounting  cost?'* 
said  Manners,  addressing  Jasper,  but  glancing  signifi^ 
cantly  at  the  others. 

"Four  thousand  pounds,"  said  Jasper,  glibly,  while 
Adrien  ate  his  fish  with  the  most  consummate  indifference. 

"Four  thousand  for  four  nights,  that's  about  it.  A 
thousand  each  night.  Ton  my  word,  the  public  ought  to 
be  grateful  to  you,"  said  Mortimer,  nodding  at  Leroy. 

He  laughed. 

"Or  I  to  them.  No  slight  thing  to  sit  through  a  bad 
play.  But  how  is  it,  Jasper  ?  You  said  it  would  run." 

"I?"  said  Jasper,  looking,  not  confused,  but  only  too 
amiable,  which  was  the  same  thing  with  him.  "No,  not  so 
certainly  as  that ;  I  said  I  thought  the  thing  well  written, 
eh,  Mortimer?" 

"Ah,"  said  Mortimer,  who  had  been  watching  him 
keenly,  "out  in  your  reckoning,  for  a  wonder.  It  is  to 
be  hoped  you  didn't  back  your  opinion  in  the  matter  of  the 
colt,  to  which  I  think  you  were  also  favorably  inclined?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jasper,  leaning  back  with  an  admirable  air 
of  lazy  contentment.  "I  laid  my  little  usual  stake,  and 
lost,  of  course." 

"You  should  have  hedged,"  said  Mortimer,  who  knew 
as  a  positive  fact  that  he  had  done  so. 

"Ah,  yes,  but  you  know  that  I  am  so  lazy,  positively 
lazy,  that  I  ask  myself  is  it  worth  the  trouble,  and  I  an- 
swer no.  So  I  let  it  go,  and,  hah !  hah !  it  has  gone !" 

"Humph !"  growled  Mortimer.    "Unfortunate  Jasper !" 

Unfortunate  Jasper  laughed  again  and  filled  his  glass. 

"I  have  no  judgment,"  he  said.  "I  am  a  man  of  no 
ideas  and  I  admit  it.  I  confess  it  with  regret.  Now, 
Adrien,"  and  he  stopped  to  smile  over  his  glass  at  the 


i!4  Staunch  of  Heart. 

grand,  reposeful  face  of  Leroy,  where  he  sat  talking  to 
Manners,  "now  Adrien  is  all  acuteness;  without  him  I 
should  go  astray  and  be  undone.  Ha!  ha!  I  am  sup- 
posed to  look  after  his  money  affairs,  but,  by  Jupiter !  it  is 
he  who  supplies  the  brains  and  I  the  hands.  I  am  the 
machine — a  mere  machine,  and  he  turns  the  handle !" 

And  laughing  at  his  joke,  he  held  up  his  glass  for  re- 
plenishment. 

"A  pretty  combination  of  talent,"  said  Mortimer.  "Try 
that  pate.  I  can  recommend  it.  Now  we  give  you  the 
credit  for  the  tact  and  all  that  sort  of  thing-.  We  always 
consider  you  as  the  brake  upon  Adrien's  check-book." 

"Ah,  what  a  mistake!"  said  Jasper,  dropping  his  fork, 
and  spreading  out  his  fat  hands  with  a  gesture  of  amuse- 
ment. "I  have  no  firmness,  but  you  will  have  it  that  I 
am  a  business  man,  so — well,  I  assume  th«  virtue,  though 
I  have  it  not.  Ha !  ha !  This  pate  is  excellent,  Mortimer. 
Rome  would  not  have  perished  had  you  lived  with  the 
last  Caesar." 

"And  Adrien  Leroy  would  not  go  to  the  dogs  so  quickly 
if  you  did  not  show  him  the  way,"  murmured  the  cynic, 
inaudibly. 

Then  aloud: 

"Finished?  Let  us  go  to  the  smoking-room.  I  am 
dying  for  a  cigar,  and  they  shall  take  up  another  bottle 
of  Leroy's  Johannisberg." 

They  arose,  and,  talking  as  they  went,  sauntered 
through  the  saloon  into  the  divan,  where,  depositing  them- 
selves on  the  luxurious  lounges,  each  man  with  a  cigar  in 
his  mouth,  and  his  favorite  wine  before  him,  the  conver- 
sation ran  on. 

Politics,  scandal,  fortunes  of  Adrien,  the  charms  of 
Haidee,  the  coming  season,  every  topic  that  came  up,  was 
caught  and  thrown  from  one  to  the  other,  Jasper  Ver- 
mont always  seizing  the  ball  when  it  seemed  to  droop, 
and  giving  it  another  fillip. 

Adrien  Leroy  spoke  little,  but  when  he  did  the  rest  un- 
consciously listened  silently,  and  with  an  evident  desire  to 
hear  his  opinion.  When  he  had  finished  Jasper  was  sure 
to  add  some  comment,  concluding  with,  "Eh,  Adrien  ?"  to 
which  Leroy  would  nod  with  the  usual  half-indifferent  and 


Staunch  of  Heart.  15 

weary  assent,  and  then  Mortimer  would  glance  at  the 
others  significantly. 

The  wine  came  and  disappeared  with  greater  rapidity, 
the  cynic  warmed,  grew  talkative,  and,  as  an  inevitable 
consequence,  amusing. 

Laughter  arose  languidly  at  first,  then,  increasing  at 
each  sally  from  Chudleigh  or  Manners,  and  its  retort  by 
Mortimer,  louder  and  louder,  until  as  it  reached  an  al- 
most incessant  stream  of  merriment  and  enjoyment  Jas- 
per Vermont,  with  a  lazy  look  all  around,  arose,  and  say- 
ing, smoothly: 

"I'm  spoiling  my  dinner  with  laughing.  Good-night! 
No,  I  can't  stay!  Business  to-morrow,  and  the  early 
biped,  you  know.  Good-night,  Adrien!  I  am  with  you 
as  the  clock  strikes  twelve  to-morrow.  Good-night !"  and 
amid  the  answering  chorus  sauntered  leisurely  out,  with 
the  smile  soft  and  bland  shining  on  his  smooth,  round 
face  like  oil  on  a  gun  barrel. 

Not  by  accident  surely  was  his  favorite  cab  at  the  door, 
or  if  so  very  happily,  for  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  glanced  at 
his  watch  with  a  slight  elevation  of  the  eyebrows,  jumped 
into  the  vehicle  and  held  up  two  fingers.  The  groom,  re- 
quiring no  other  directions,  flicked  the  thoroughbred  into 
a  swift  trot,  and  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  was  rolled  away, 
looking  up  at  the  club  windows  with  the  bland  smile  to  the 
last. 


CHAPTER  II. 
A  WOMAN'S  TONGUE. 

The  rankest  compound  of  villainous  smell 

Tliat  ever  offended  nostril.  SHAKESPEARE. 

Mr.  Jasper  Vermont's  groom  guided  the  fiery  colt  up 
St.  James'  Street,  and  with  a  whirl  into  one  of  the  branch 
thoroughfares,  pulling  him  up  almost  on  his  haunches  at 
the  door  of  a  considerable-looking  mansion,  freshly 
painted  and  handsomely  curtained. 

Jasper  Vermont  alighted,  threw  the  one  word  "wait" 
to  the  smart  groom,  and  rang  twice  at  the  shining  bell. 

A  footman  opened  the  door,  made  a  gesture  of  respect, 
and  in  answer  to  Mr.  Vermont's  "At  home  yet,  James  ?" 
replied :  "Yes,  sir ;  will  you  walk  up  ?"  and  led  the  way  up 
the  newly-carpeted  staircase,  redolent  of  patchouli  and 
glistening  in  the  opaque  whiteness  of  fresh  paint  and 
plaster  casts  of  heathen  goddesses. 

The  walls  were  adorned — though  that  is  the  wrong 
word  perhaps — with  pictures  in  the  worst  possible  taste 
and  the  most  glaring  colors. 

As  he  reached  the  first  floor  an  odor  of  baked  meats 
and  festive  cakes  came  out  to  meet  him. 

Jasper  smiled  and  sniffed  as  if  the  perfume  were  fa- 
miliar to  him. 

"Miss  Levison  at  supper?'*  he  asked  as  James  threw 
open  the  door  on  the  first  floor,  letting  out  fresh  odor  by 
the  action,  and  stood  aside  to  let  Mr.  Jasper  pass. 

"Yes,  sir,  supper's  just  served." 

"All  right,"  said  Jasper,  and  passed  into  a  large  room, 
furnished  with'  the  same  disregard  to  taste  and  the  same 
liberality  of  color  as  distinguished  the  adornments  of  the 
staircase. 

In  the  middle  of  the  glaring  apartment,  with  the  four 
gaslights  streaming  down  upon  their  black  hair,  sat  two 
ladies,  discussing  the  origin  of  the  savory  perfume. 

16 


Staunch  of  Heart.  17 

"Oh",  it's  you,  Jasper,  is  it?"  exclaimed  the  younger  of 
the  two,  delivering  the  salutation  with  a  glass  of  stout  up- 
lifted halfway  to  her  mouth.  "I  thought  it  was  your  tread, 
but  I  couldn't  tell,  you're  so  quiet  on  the  pins/'  and  she 
laughed  in  a  harsh,  vulgar  strain  that  jarred  upon  the 
nerves,  or  would  have  done  if  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  had 
possessed  such  inconvenient  luxuries. 

Not  only  was  the  laugh  vulgar,  but  the  lady  herself  was 
vulgar  too.  Beautiful  as  well,  but  of  a  beauty  that  was 
entirely  animal.  There  was  more  mind  and  soul  in  the 
pork  chops  than  in  the  bright  eyes  and  raven  hair  of  Miss 
Haidee  Levison. 

Her  companion  was  like  the  fellow  in  the  ordinary  pair 
of  soup  tureens,  the  same  in  hair,  dress,  sensual  mouth, 
but  older  and  more  vulgar.  She  was  a  sister  of  the  beau- 
tiful Haidee  and  named  Judith. 

Both  ladies  were  extravagantly  and  gaudily  dressed, 
and  both  were  decked  in  jewels  that  for  richness  and  in- 
trinsic value  might  have  made  a  countess*  mouth  water. 

"Yes,  it  is  I,"  said  Mr.  Jasper.  "Pork  chops  again; 
I  -thought  Leroy  objected  to  them." 

Both  ladies  laughed. 

"Not  the  chops,  but  the  smell  that  he  doesn't  like,"  saifl 
Haidee.  "He's  so  particular,  you  know.  But  he  ain't 
coming  to-night,  leastways  he  said  he  wasn't" 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  seating  himself  at  the  table,  and 
lifting  a  small  bottle,  which  proved  to  be  empty.  "Is 
there  anything  left  to  drink?  I  am  thirsty,  and  the  sight 
of  you  girls  at  the  stout  set  me  off." 

"Have  some  phiz,"  said  Miss  Haidee.  "Ring  the  tell. 
will  you,  Judith  ?  Give  me  another  chop,  and  don't  forget 
the  gravy.  Well,  what's  the  news,  Jasper?" 

"The  question  I  was  going  to  ask  you,"  replied  Jasper, 
as  the  manservant  brought  in  a  bottle  of  champagne. 
"How  has  the  comedy  gone?" 

"Oh,  beastly !  I  told  Leroy  it  would  be  squashed,  and 
yet  I  did  my  best,  didn't  I,  Ju?  The  dresses  were  really 
first-class,  blue  satin  trimmed  with  silver,  suit  of  pearls, 
and  the  turquoise  armlets.  First  rate,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  but  I  suppose  the  stupid  people  got  tired  of  look- 
ing at  the  blue  satin  at  last." 


1 8  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Then  they  could  have  looked  at  me,  I  suppose,"  re- 
torted Miss  Haidee,  laughing  tartly.  "I've  no  patience 
with  Adrien"  (she  pronounced  the  name  with  the  prefix 
of  an  "H").  "Why  don't  he  have  burlesque  and  some- 
thing lively?  I  could  make  a  do  of  it  then.  Comedy's 
slow  and  drags.  Plenty  of  fun  and  comic  songs  is  all  the 
go  now.  Besides,  I  can  dance." 

"But  can't  act,"  said  Jasper,  with  an  amiable  smile. 

"Can't  I?  That's  all  you  know  about  it!"  returned 
Miss  Haidee,  with  a  flash  of  anger.  "Well,  now,  where 
have  you  been?" 

"To  the  Thesasian " 

"But,  by  Jove!  why  didn't  you  come  last  night?" 

"I  had  business  which  I  won't  trouble  you  with,  my 
fair  Haidee,"  he  replied,  smiling. 

"Won't  you?  You're  mighty  polite.  I  suppose  you 
were  down  at  the  castle — Adrien,  too.  What  were  you 
doing  there?" 

"Minding  our  own  business,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  sipping 
his  wine. 

"Close  as  a  fox,  you  are,"  said  Miss  Haidee,  looking 
as  if  she  would  have  liked  to  scratch  him.  "Where's 
Adrien?  Down  there?" 

"No,  at  the  Thesasian ;  I  left  him  there  with  Mortimer 
Shelton." 

"I  hate  that  man,"  interposed  Miss  Levison. 

"So  do  I,  but  I  don't  say  so,"  remarked  Mr.  Jasper.  "I 
left  him  there  safe  and  sound  for  another  hour  or  two,  and 
ran  on  to  give  you  a  word  of  warning.  Judith,  I  think 
you'd  better  go  to  bed,  you  look  tired." 

He  broke  off  to  address  the  other  lady,  who  had  sat 
perfectly  silent,  devouring  the  chops  and  gazing  from  one 
to  the  other. 

She  arose,  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  left  the  room. 

Jasper  Vermont  looked  after  her,  just  as  he  would  have 
looked  at  a  useless  piece  of  furniture  in  course  of  re- 
moval, and  refilled  his  glass,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and 
regarded  the  flushed,  handsome  face  of  the  woman  fixedly 
before  resuming. 

"Well  ?"  she  said,  striking  the  table  with  her  fork,  im- 
patiently. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  19 

/ 

"Haidee,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  taking  out  his  toothpick  and 
speaking  with  calm  and  pleasant  deliberateness,  "there 
was  once  a  man  who  killed  the  goose  that  laid  him  golden 
eggs,  there  was  another  who  cut  a  bellows  open  because 
it  would  not  blow  him  over  to  Paris,  there  was  another 
who  worried  his  horse  until  the  animal,  disgusted  with 
him,  kicked  him  off  into  the  ditch  and  bolted;  but  none 
of  all  these  foolish  men  attained  to  such  a  degree  of  folly 
as  Miss  Haidee  Levison  bids  fair  to  reach  when  she  suc- 
ceeds in  worrying  her  prize  donkey  into  kicking  her  to 
the  ground  and  leaving  her  in  the  mud." 

"Don't  be  an  idiot,  Jasper,  but  speak  out  plain." 

"I  will,  though  not  so  plainly  as  you,  I  trust,  my  dear 
Haidee.  Plainly,  then,  divested  of  all  metaphor,  you  are 
killing  your  goose  with  marvelous  rapidity.  In  other 
words,  you  are  making  Adrien  Leroy  tired  of  you  with 
lamentable  haste.  May  I  venture  to  remark  that  when 
one  has  a  goose  with  such  truly  estimable  peculiarities  as 
golden  egg-laying  that  one  should  humor  him?  If  he 
dislikes  pork  chops,  or  rather  the  perfume  of  them,  is  it 
wise  to  fill  the  house  with  Which  he  has  provided  you 
with  an  odor  of  fried  meat  and  onions  sufficient  to  stifle  an 
elephant  ?  Is  it  not  the  sublimity  of  folly  to  stick  plaster 
casts  of  hideous  form  upon  the  staircase  which  your  goose 
— who  detests  statuary  as  he  does  bad  wine — ascends 
daily?  Can  anything  be  more  suicidal  than  to  thrust  vul- 
garity down  the  throat  of  your  goose,  whose  refinement  is 
a  byword  among  his  fellow  geese  far  and  wide  ?  In  short, 
my  dear  Haidee,  you  are  going  the  way  to  get  the  conge 
from  my  foolish  but  rich  young  friend,  Adrien  Leroy." 

The  woman,  who  had  beat  a  more  rapid  and  louder 
tattoo  with  each  word,  leaped  to  her  feet  at  the  last,  and 
with  the  fork  clasped  in  one  hand  dashed  the  other  upon 
the  table  till  the  glasses  rang  again. 

"Jasper,"  she  hissed,  with  a  vulgar  oath,  "you  are 
enough  to  drive  me  mad!  Why  don't  you  speak  out? 
Why  can't  you  say  what  you  mean  ?  What's  the  matter 
with  him  ?  Confound  him !  What  does  he  want  ?  Ain't 
there  a  hundred  other  swells  dying  for  me?  Can't  I 
furnish  a  house  as  I  like  ?  Can't  I  pick  a  bit  of  supper  off 
a  chop  or  two  if  I  like  ?  Can't  I  do  what  I  like  without 
his  delicate  nose  being  turned  up ?  Am  I  going  to  starve? 
Can't  I  do  anythiag*" 


20  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"You  can  go  to  the  deuce  if  you  like,  my  dear,"  said 
Mr.  Jasper,  with  a  really  sweet  smile.  "I  merely  warn 
you  that  you  are  on  the  road — only  on  the  road,  that  is  all. 
Have  another  chop,  there's  one  left,  and  dab  another  bottle 
of  patchouli  about  the  room  if  you  must ;  as  you  say,  there 
are  more  geese  than  one,  and  it  is  hard  if  one  cannot 
enjoy  fried  pork  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning!" 

Goaded  almost  to  madness  by  the  slow  stream  of  aggra- 
vation, the  actress  flung  the  fork  upon  the  table,  upsetting 
a  champagne  glass  with  a  crash,  and  pushed  out  her  head 
at  him  like  a  gaudy  wood  snake. 

''Jasper,  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  What's  your  game  ? 
Are  you  playing  the  shuffle  with  me  and  Adrien?  Are 
you  setting  him  agin'  me  ?  I  know  you,  you  fox ;  I  hate 
you  when  you  smile  like  that,  for  I  know  you  are  at  your 
deep  tricks  again.  What  are  you  doing  up  at  the  castle 
so  often?  Making  yourself  pleasant  to  the  girl  there,  I 
suppose.  She  ain't  fond  of  a  little  scent  and  a  chop  or 
two,  and  she  can  have  real  statues  if  she  likes.  And  I 
suppose  you  don't  remind  him  of  that?  Oh,  no!  But 
you  mind  your  skin,  Jasper.  I  don't  take  things  as  they 
come,  like  Judith.  You  can't  play  fast  and  loose  with 
me.  Shuffle  him  onto  that  Constance  girl  and,  mark  me, 
I'll  pay  you  back.  I  know  something  you  wouldn't  like 
cried  through  a  trumpet.  You  don't  want  me  to  go  up  to 
your  castle  and  open  my  mouth,  do  you  ?  You  don't  want 
me  to  split  upon  your  little  game,  I  suppose?  Well,  then, 
don't  you  play  any  of  your  deceitful  tricks  on  Haidee 
Levison,  or  I'll  go  straight  to  him  and  tell  them  all." 

Jasper  Vermont  arose  to  his  feet,  moved  more  by  her 
looks  than  her  words,  and  caught  her  arm. 

There  was  something  so  terrible,  so  deadly  in  the  sheen 
of  his  green-gray  eyes,  so  treacherous  and  murderous  in 
the  curl  of  his  thin  lips,  that  the  face  of  the  woman 
blanched,  and  she  shrank  back  with  a  cry  of  fear,  glanc- 
ing at  the  knife  which  was  touching  Jasper's  other  hand 
as  it  rested  on  the  table. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  Adrien  Leroy 
entered. 

In  a  second  the  scowl  fled  from  Jasper's  face,  and,  re- 
taining the  woman's  arm  still  in  his  grasp,  he  said,  with 
a  laugh: 


Staunch  of  Heart.  21 

"You  are  no  stouter;  the  bracelet  will  fit  you.  I  can 
feel  that  in  the  span." 

Then,  as  he  dropped  her  arm  and  turned  to  the  tall 
figure  of  his  friend,  added : 

"Haidee  has  bet  me  that  the  new  bracelet  is  too  small ; 
she  thinks  she  is  getting  stout,  and  I  have  reassured  her." 

Adrien,  hat  in  hand,  nodded  and  looked  at  the  table 
with  a  glance  that  was  half  one  of  annoyance  and  dis- 
gust. 

"You  are  late,"  he  said  to  Haidee,  who  uttered  an 
affected  cry  of  delight,  and  ran  to  him. 

"And  the  room  smells — pah !  Jasper,  give  Haidee  the 
draft  of  that  deed.  I  am  tired  and  am  going  home." 

With  a  gentle  but  firm  touch  he  put  the  woman  aside, 
looked  around  the  room  again,  with  the  weary,  far-off 
gaze,  the  woman  standing  where  he  had  put  her  from 
him,  with  a  scowl  upon  her  treacherous  face,  and  Jasper 
leaning  back  with  a  smile,  sweet,  amiable,  but  significant, 
upon  his  face. 


CHAPTER  III. 
"HOME    AT    LAS  T." 

Oh,  life,  thou  art  a  galling  road, 

Along  a  rough,  a  weary  road, 

To  wretches  such  as  I.  BURNS. 

Adrien  Leroy  paused  to  light  a  cigar,  then,  buttoning 
liis  opera  cloak  across  his  broad  chest,  descended  the 
stairs. 

The  footman,  with  a  gesture  of  respect  that  almost 
amounted  to  awe,  preceded  and  opened  the  door  for  him. 

With  that  grand,  reposeful  hauteur  upon  his  magnifi- 
cent face,  the  idol  of.  fashion  passed  into  the  street. 

His  cab  had  gone  to  the  stables ;  the  night  was  bitterly 
cold,  and  he  thrust  his  hands  deeply  into  his  pockets,  bent 
his  head  slightly  against  the  biting  wind,  and  started  at  a 
quick,  swinging  stride  for  his  chambers. 

"A  wild  night,"  he  thought,  looking  up  at  the  gas- 
light, flickering  in  one  of  the  street  lamps.  "A  cruel 
night  for  many  a  one.  Thank  heaven,  it  has  cleared  the 
street." 

Even  as  the  words  left  his  lips  his  half-dreaming,  half- 
mournful  eyes  rested  upon  a  something  leaning  in  the 
shadow  of  a  house  porch — its  shrinking  figure  shrouded 
in  an  old  shawl,  its  face  hidden  in  its  hands. 

Adrien  Leroy  stopped  and  turned  to  look  at  it  with 
that  gentle  earnestness  which  the  women  of  his  set  found 
so  irresistible,  and,  turning  from  his  path,  strode  up  the 
steps  to  where  the  girl  crouched. 

She  heard  his  step,  and  lifted  her  face  from  her  hands. 

Expecting  to  see  the  usual  face,  terrible  in  its  mockery 
of  gayety,  and  heartrending  in  its  earnestness  of  woe, 
Adrien  Leroy  felt  a  sudden  shock  of  surprise — pleasur- 
able surprise. 

The  face  was  that  of  a  girl  of  about  seventeen,  per- 
fectly oval,  dark — almost  olive,  with  large,  full  eyes,  de- 

22 


Staunch  of  Heart.  23 

fiant  but  beautiful,  and  a  mouth  that  but  for  a  curious 
hardness  in  the  curve,  might  have  been  charming — a  beau- 
tiful face,  and,  what  was  more,  a  fresh  one. 

He  raised  his  hat  slightly — the  Leroy  fashion  when  talk- 
ing to  woman,  dairymaid  or  countess — and,  dropping  his 
handsome  head,  said,  quietly : 

"My  girl,  this  is  late  and  a  wild  night  for  you  to  be 
out.  Are  you  not  cold  ?" 

She  stared  at  him,  her  eyes  wonderingly  but  leisurely 
resting,  first  upon  his  face,  with  the  deep,  gentle  eyes, 
then  upon  the  diamonds  at  his  wrist,  and  then  back  to  his- 
face  again. 

He  repeated  the  question,  and  touched  the  hand — a 
long,  well-shaped  one,  though  blue  with  the  cold — that 
was  nearest  him. 

"You  are  cold,  are  you  not,  child?" 

"Very,"  she  opened  her  lips  to  answer,  in  a  low  but 
firm  voice,  her  eyes  still  fixed  with  admiring  surprise 
upon  his  face. 

"I  thought  so,"  he  said,  straightening  himself  and 
speaking  with  marvelous  tenderness.  "Where  do  you 
live?  Where  is  your  home?" 

"Cracknell  Court,"  she  replied,  and  let  her  eyes  drop 
to  his  hand,  which  was  already  feeling  for  his  purse. 

"Soho?"  he  asked. 

She  nodded. 

"Have  you  no  father?" 

"No,"  she  said,  in  exactly  the  same  tone— one  of  pa- 
tient resignation  that  was  almost  defiant  in  its  low  firm- 
ness. 

"No  mother?" 

"No,"  she  said.    "Only  Johann  Wilfer." 

Something,  accent  or  expression,  in  the  reply  struck 
Adrien  Leroy,  and  he  scrutinized  her  dark  face  for  a 
moment  in  silence. 

"Are  you  English,  my  child?"  he  asked. 

"English?"  she  repeated.  "I  suppose  so.  Nobody 
said  I  wasn't.  English?  I  suppose  so.  You  are  Eng- 
lish, aren't  you?" 

He  nodded. 

"Yes,  too  English  to  let  you  perish  in  the  cold,  my 


24  Staunch  of  Heart. 

child,"  he  murmured,  inaudibly  to  her,  and  looking  down 
thoughtfully.    It  was  his  intention  to  help  her,  but  how? 

"Why  have  you  left  your  home?"  he  asked. 

"Johann  came  home  drunk  and  beat  me,  and  I  came 
out" 

She  dropped  the  flimsy  shawl  and  held  up  one  arm. 

Underneath  it  there  were  three  large  bruises,  showing 
up  cruelly  distinct  upon  the  white  skin. 

The  aristocrat's  eye  flashed  angrily  while  he  wondered 
at  the  firmness  of  the  arm. 

"Beat  you,  did  he?"  he  said.  "And  not  your  father? 
Whom  else  do  you  live  with  ?  Have  you  no  one  to  pro- 
tect you  ?" 

"There's  Martha;  but  she's  deaf.    It's  very  cold." 

"Cruelly  for  you,"  he  said,  curtly  but  not  unkindly. 
"See,  there  is  some  money  for  you,  but  that  will  not 
warm  you " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  laugh  that  was  solemnly 
ironical,  and  put  back  his  hand  with  her  small  icy  one. 

"Johann  '11  get  it,"  she  said,  drawing  her  shawl  around 
her.  "Johann  gets  everything." 

"Excepting  the  blows,"  thought  the  aristocrat,  dropping 
the  sovereign  into  his  pocket  and  unbuttoning  his  coat. 

"You  will  not  go  home,"  he  said,  "if  I  take  you?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  in  doing  so  released  a  shower 
of  dark  chestnut  hair  from  the  dingy  shawl. 

"No,"  she  said,  "not  till  morning.  I  shall  be  all  right 
then.  Not  till  morning." 

"Before  then  you  will  be  dead  with  the  cold,"  he 
thought,  taking  her  hand  and  looking  up  and  down  the 
street  in  indecision. 

She  seemed  to  have  heard  his  thoughts. 

"I  wish  I  was  dead,"  she  said,  quietly,  and  with  a 
sharp,  harsh  laugh  that  jarred  upon  the  refined  senses  of 
the  man  of  fashion,  coming  from  such  well-shaped  lips 
and  backed  by  the  bitter  mockery  of  such  deep,  childlike 
eyes. 

The  sentence  decided  him,  however. 

"I  cannot  leave  you  here,  my  girl,"  he  said.  "Money  is 
of  no  use  to  you.  Will  you  come  with  me?" 

He  took  off  his  coat  as  he  spoke,  and  buttoned  it  around 
tier  light,  supple  form. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  25 

She  submitted  passively,  but  looked  with  wondering 
amazement  at  the  rich  black  clothes  and  white  shirt- 
front 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  without  a  word  she  laid 
her  own  cold  one  within  it,  and  the  two  descended  the 
steps.  They  proceeded  in  silence  for  the  length  of  two 
large  squares,  then  the  girl  stopped  suddenly,  wrenched 
her  hand  from  his  and  commenced  unbuttoning  the 
coat. 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  calm  attention. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

In  answer  she  struggled  out  of  the  coat,  and  with  a 
flush  on  her  face  and  a  bright  light  in  her  eyes  held  it 
up  to  him. 

"I  won't  have  it,"  she  said,  through  her  pale  lips ;  "you'll 
be  cold.5' 

Adrien  Leroy  smiled  and  quietly  wrapped  her  in  it 
again. 

She  stopped  with  a  stubborn  look. 

"I  won't  come,"  she  said ;  "you'll  be  frozen.  I  am  used 
to  cold;  you're  not.  I  won't  wear  it." 

"Keep  it  on,  my  girl,"  he  said,  in  the  low  tones  of  com- 
mand which  none  ever  disobeyed.  "I  am  stronger  and 
older  than  you  are,  and  a  man.  I  am  not  cold." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  but  the  tone  and  the  smile 
were  irresistible,  and,  reluctantly  returning  her  hand  to  his 
grasp,'  she  walked  on  beside  him  with  a  light,  springy 
step  that,  owing  to  her  badly  shod  feet,  was  a  noiseless  one. 

Adrien  Leroy  kept  her  walking  as  quickly  as  he  could, 
for  the  cold  was  growing  intense,  and  he  could  feel  that 
her  little  hand  within  his  own  was  growing  cramped. 

But  she  was  tired  as  well  as  half  frozen,  and,  glancing 
at  her  uncertain  steps,  he  stooped  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 

"We  are  nearly  there,"  he  said,  smiling  to  reassure  her. 
"You  are  as  light  as  a  feather,  child  (lighter  than  friend 
Johann's  hand).  We  shall  soon  be  in  a  warm  room." 

There  she  lay  in  his  arms,  her  head  against  his  spotless 
shirt  front,  with  the  three  priceless  pearls.  She  seemed 
perfectly  content,  perfectly  assured,  and  nodded  with  a 
trusting  closure  of  the  dark  eyes. 

Adrien  Leroy  was  strong,  and  as  he  had  said,  the  child's 


26  Staunch  of  Heart. 

weight  was  but  as  a  feather  to  his  sinewy  arms  and  broad 
chest.  He  hurried  on  quickly,  with  long  strides,  but  his 
face  was  very  earnest  and  very  thoughtful. 

"Where  can  I  take  her?"  he  asked  himself.  His  steps 
were  bent  for  his  chambers,  and  he  could  see  the  mansion 
in  which  they  stood  rising  in  the  street  before  him.  "She 
is  an  innocent  child.  Can  I  take  her  to  my  chambers 
without  injuring  her  poor  shred  of  reputation?  Yet  what 
else  can  I  do ;  no  houses  open,  Johann  of  the  strong  arm 
drunk  and  expecting  his  victim  at  home  in  Soho  ?  In  she 
must  come  with  me,  poor  child." 

Of  course  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  retrace  his  steps 
and  deliver  her  to  the  charge  of  Miss  Haidee.  That 
would  have  been  committing  a  greater  cruelty  than  to  have 
left  her  to  freeze  in  the  stucco  portico  of  the  house  in 
the  square. 

Within  a  hundred  yards  of  his  chambers  he  stopped 
short. 

One  other  refuge  remained :  the  refuge  for  the  homeless 
and  helpless.  He  turned  down  the  street  at  whose  corner 
he  had  paused,  and  rang  the  bell  of  the  great  prison  house 
of  the  poor. 

An  official,  frocked  and  braided  like  a  turnkey,  drew 
the  rusty  bolts  and  struck  back  a  wicket. 
"Well"?"  he  said,  curtly.    "What's  up?" 
"I  want  you  to  take  this  poor  child  for  the  night,"  said 
Adrien,  quietly.    "I  found  her  on  a  doorstep  in  Colman 
Square." 

The  man  looked  hard,  first  at  the  aristocratic  face  of 
the  bearer,  then  at  the  dark  one  of  the  burden. 

"Come,  now.;  that  won't  do,"  he  said,  half  angrily,  and 
half  with  amusement.  "It's  rather  late  to  play  jokes  o* 
this  sort.  Take  the  gal  home." 

Adrien  turned  without  another  word,  and  the  man, 
laughing  grimly,  flung  to  the  wicket. 

Opening  the  door  of  one  of  the  large  mansions,  Adrien 
entered  the  hall  and  turned  up  the  lamp. 

Then,  with  the  girl  still  in  his  arms,  he  walked  up  the 
stairs,  pushed  open  a  door  on  the  first  floor,  and  entered 
a  room. 
A  low  light  was  burning,  held  up  hy  a  statuette  of 


Staunch  of  Heart.  27 

white  marble,  placed  in  a  recess  lined  with  pink  satin. 

Adrien  turned  up  the  light  and  set  the  girl  down  on 
her  feet. 

"Home  at  last,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "and  now  come 
to  the  fire." 

But  the  girl  seemed  turned  to  stone  with  astonishment, 
and  there  was  for  her  almost  sufficient  excuse. 

No  fortunate  mortal  dropping  into  the  fairy  palace  of 
King  Goldenlove  in  a  Christmas  pantomime  could  be  more 
overwhelmed  by  the  magnificence  of  his  nev;  quarters  than 
this  half-frozen  gypsy  street  waif  was  at  the  four  walls 
around  her  and  the  luxuries  they  contained. 

Her  large  eyes  wandered  around  from  the  velvet-draped 
walls  with  their  glistening  ancient  and  modern  gems — all 
small,  as  gems  should  be — to  the  gold  and  delicately  inlaid 
furniture,  to  the  exquisitely  rose-tinted  statuettes  standing 
clean  and  clearly  against  the  rich  color  of  the  hangings, 
to  the  cunningly  cut  Venetian  glass,  to  the  thousand  and 
one  wonderful  contents  of  the  superb  apartment,  and 
thence  to  that  most  beautiful  of  all,  the  face  of  its  owner. 

He  smiled  with  faint  amusement  at  her  evident  amazed 
admiration,  and,  drawing  a  chair  up  to  the  fire  that  burned 
brightly  in  the  grate  of  polished  steel  and  ormolu,  sur- 
mounted and  surrounded  by  its  mantel  that  was  a  marvel 
even  in  its  birthplace,  Florence,  said: 

"Come  and  warm  yourself." 

With  her  eyes  wandering  again  she  trod  delicately  over 
the  thick  Turkey-piled  carpet  and  dropped  with  a  sigh 
into  the  chair. 

"Give  me  your  hands,"  he  said,  bending  over  her  and 
rubbing  her  blue  hands.  "Don't  hold  them  near  the  fire 
yet." 

He  had  seen  the  monks  of  St.  Bernard  chafing  a  res- 
cued wanderer,  and  knew  the  danger  of  too  sudden  and 
fierce  heat. 

"That  is  better.  They  are  warm  now,  are  they  not? 
And  now  we  will  have  some  supper." 

He  turned  from  the  fire  and  touched  with  his  forefinger 
a  flaming  ruby  that  burned  and  flashed  on  the  forehead  of 
a  marble  Juno  standing  with  a  candelabra  in  her  grasp. 

No  sound  was  heard,  but  in  a  few  minutes  the  door 


28  Staunch  of  Heart. 

opened  noiselessly,  and  a  thin,  dignified  manservant  stood 
in  respectful  attention. 

"Let  us  have  some  supper,  Norgate." 

The  slim  gentleman  in  broadcloth  made  a  profound 
bow,  and  disappeared  as  he  had  entered,  and  his  master 
returned  to  the  fireplace,  leaning  against  the  carved  man- 
tel and  looking  down  at  the  handsome  budding  beauty 
of  the  girl  below  him. 

As  yet  she  had  not  spoken. 

Her  eyes,  riveted  on  the  manservant  while  he  had  been 
in  the  room  now  wandered,  like  tropical  fireflies,  over  the 
various  splendors  of  the  cabinet  again. 

Then  suddenly  she  lifted  them  to  the  grave  face  above 
her  and  said,  in  a  low,  awe-stricken  whisper: 

"Is  this  the  Crystal  Palace,  if  you  please?" 

Adrien  Leroy,  considerate  of  the  child's  feelings,  sup- 
pressed the  smile. 

"The  Crystal  Palace?"  he  repeated.  "No,  my  child. 
What  made  you  think  so?" 

"I've  heard  them  say  the  Crystal  Palace  was  the  most 
beautiful  place  in  the  world,  and  I  thought  this  must  be 
it  Oh,  it's  lovely!  Is  that  chain  there  real  gold?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "only  to  the  eye — no  worse  than  a  great 
deal  of  human  furniture.  No,  not  gold,  but  here  comes 
something  you  require  a  great  deal  more  than  the  pre- 
cious metal  even — supper  1" 

As  he  spoke  Norgate,  his  man,  entered,  bearing  a 
large  silver  tray. 

Setting  it  on  the  table,  he  spread  out  a  choice  supper 
of  hot,  made  dishes,  truffles,  grilled  bones,  salmi  of  par- 
tridge, a  carved  fowl  and  various  other  delicacies  which 
he  had  either  prepared  by  the  all-powerful  aid  of  a  ma- 
gician's rod  at  the  short  notice,  or  been  keeping  warm  on 
the  chance  of  their  being  required. 

Lifting  the  chairs  to  the  table  he  disappeared  again, 
returning  shortly  with  wine  and  choice,  delicately-cut 
glasses. 

These  he  set  on  the  table  and,  with  the  same  respectful 
inclination  of  the  head,  announced  that  supper  was  served. 

His  master  dismissed  him  with  a  nod,  thinking  that  the 
would  be  less  embarrassed  if  alone  with  him,  and 


Staunch  of  Heart.  29 

Norgate  retired  with  the  same  expressionless  face  as  if 
the  apparition  of  cold  and  ill-clothed  girls  in  the  dainty 
apartment  were  of  nightly  occurrence. 

Adrien  brought  a  plate  of  salmi  and  placed  it  on  a 
low  table  before  the  girl. 

"You  are  warm  there,"  he  said,  "and  comfortable,  I 
hope.  And  now  I  wonder  which  wine  you  would  pre- 
fer— Johannisberg,  Chateau  St.  Emillion,  Vaumagnon. 
There,"  and  he  poured  out  a  glass  of  Burgundy.  "If  you 
do  not  like  it  we  can  try  another." 

The  great,  dark  eyes  stared  at  him,  and  they  grew  less 
perplexed  but  more  childlike  and  gentle.  The  long,  thin, 
well-formed  hands  took  up  the  knife  and  fork. 

Adrien  Leroy  seated  himself  at  the  table,  with  his  eyes 
carefully  directed  from  her,  and  pretended  to  set  about 
a  hearty  supper,  to  give  her  courage.  By  dint  of  helping 
himself  to  several  dishes  and  making  a  little  fuss  with 
his  knife  and  fork,  he  gave  her  confidence,  and  presently 
glancing  around  saw  that  she  had  commenced  upon  the 
salmi. 

After  a  while  she  ate  more  boldly,  stealing  a  glance 
at  him  and  the  rooms  at  intervals — a  glance  timid,  won- 
dering, and  with  some  other  expression  that  was  as  yet 
not  quite  distinct  enough  to  designate. 

He  arose  after  a  while,  filled  her  glass,  and  helped  her 
to  another  dainty.  She  ate  a  little,  then  laid  down  her 
knife  and  fork,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  fire. 

"Enough?"  he  said,  taking  her  plate,  and  stroking 
her  hair  back,  his  hand  gleaming  like  marble  against  her 
dark  braids.  "Are  you  warmer  now,  and  happier?" 

She  looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"I  must  be  dreaming,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  "But  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  beautiful 
place  before.  Do  you  often  bring  people  out  of  the  cold 
into  this  lovely  place?" 

His  face  looked  grave. 

"Not  often,"  he  said,  curiously.  "Not  as  often  as 
I  should,  my  child.  You  have  not  told  me  your  name 
yet  What  is  it?" 

"Reah,"  she  said. 

"Reah!"  he  repeated.    "You  are  Spanish?" 


30  Staunch  of  Heart. 

She  did  not  understand  him,  and  shook  her  Head. 

"No  father  or  mother,  and  only  friend  Johann,  whom 
you  would  be  better  without.  Poor  child!  And  what 
does  Johann  do  for  a  living?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  know.    He  gets  drunk." 

"A  liberal  profession,  and  one  with  many  eminent 
members.  And  so  there  are  many  cold  nights  and  hun- 
gry days  for  poor  Reah,"  and  he  sighed. 

She  looked  at  him  with  lowered  eyebrows  and  tremu- 
lous lips. 

"Must  I  go  now  ?  I  am  so  happy."  The  lips  trembled 
more  markedly.  "Nobody  ever  spoke  so  kindly  to  me  as 
you  do,  nor  ever  gave  me  such  nice  things  to  eat.  I 
don't  know  why  you  did  it.  Must  I  go  now?" 

She  arose  as  she  spoke,  and  stood  humbly  but  eagerly 
hanging  on  his  reply. 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  led  her  to  the  chair  again. 

"No,  Reah,  not  yet.  You  shall  wait  here  until  the 
morning — till  the  daylight,  it's  morning  now — and  then 
we  will  send  you  back  and  see  if  we  can  do  anything 
toward  softening  the  rugged  road  for  the  future.  Poor 
child!" 

She  did  not  understand  half  his  words,  but  a  babe 
could  have  comprehended  the  gentleness  of  his  smile  and 
the  tenderness  of  the  action  with  which  he  placed  a  silken 
embroidered  pillow  at  her  head,  and  a  silver  filigre  foot- 
stool at  her  feet. 

She  laughed  up  at  him,  with  thoughtful,  childlike  eyes 
until  they  filled  with  tears.  He  seemed  to  her  a  creature 
natural  to  another  world — a  higher  world  she  had 
scarcely  dared  to  dream  of — visiting  her  troubled  and 
weary  portion  of  the  world  terrestrial  to  overwhelm  her 
with  his  beauty  and  his  gentleness. 

Her  heart  beat  fast,  her  lips  were  set  firmly,  but  her 
eyes  were  eloquent. 

Adrien  Leroy  stood  with  his  wineglass  in  his  hand, 
leaning  against  the  mantel,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire, 
his  face  dreamily  grave. 

The  falling  of  her  arm  on  her  lap  aroused  him. 

"A  beautiful  child,  with  a  promise  of  a  more  beautiful 


Staunch  of  Heart.  31 

woman,"  he  thought,  looking  at  her.  "Poor  little  thing, 
how  weary  she  is  already!  Poor  and  rich,  young  and 
old,  how  soon  the  world's  poison  reaches  us !  She  sleeps 
like  a  fawn.  Reah,  a  Spanish  name,  and  there  is  a  Cas- 
tilian  olive  on  her  cheeks.  Poor  child !" 

Then  he  took  his  coat  and  hat,  lit  a  cigar,  and  pre- 
pared to  face  the  cold  again. 

"A  cruel  kindness  to  give  her  food  and  steal  her  repu- 
tation," he  murmured. 

And  so,  with  a  chivalry  that  would  have  excited  the 
wonder  if  not  the  mirth  of  the  gay  world  in  which'  he 
reigned  monarch,  Adrien  Leroy  passed  into  the  wind,  and 
paced  the  cold  streets  to  keep  the  breath  of  scandal 
from  a  little  street  waif. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread, 
You  seize  the  flower,  its  bloom  is  shed; 
Or  like  the  snowfall  on  the  river, 
A  moment  white,  then  melts  forever. 


When  the  sun  rose,  cold,  bright  and  clear,  Adrien 
Lcroy  retraced  his  steps  through  the  neighboring  square, 
and  returned  to  his  chambers. 

The  elegant  cabinet  was  empty.  He  looked  around, 
even  flung  the  curtain  which  veiled  the  door  of  the  ad- 
joining room  aside,  but  the  bird  had  flown. 

He  summoned  his  man  Norgate  by  means  of  the  satyr's 
ruby,  and  asked  him  where  the  child  had  gone. 

With  a  shadow  of  surprise,  the  well-trained  servant 
replied  that  he  was  ignorant  of  her  disappearance. 

"I  left  her  here,  sir,  asleep,  when  I  removed  the  sup- 
per things.  She  must  have  passed  out  on  tiptoe." 

Adrien  nodded  with  calm  weariness,  and  the  servant 
returned  to  his  duties. 

Adrien  Leroy  turned  the  heap  of  envelopes  over  with 
his  hand,  smiled  significantly  with  no  abatement  of  weari- 
ness at  the  many  daintily  shaped,  scented  ones,  ai|d  then 
passed  into  the  next  room. 

Exquisitely  decorated  and  furnished  as  the  other,  but  in 
a  softer,  less  brilliant  style,  it  served  as  a  dressing-room 
to  the  bedchamber  beyond.  A  bath  of  cold  water,  deep 
and  sparkling  in  the  rays  of  the  sun  pouring  through  the 
jealousies,  stood  in  a  recess.  Adrien  Leroy  divested  him- 
self of  his  evening  dress  and  plunged  in. 

A  cold  bath  on  a  crisp  winter  morning  is  an  excellent 
substitute  for  sleep,  and  when  the  man  of  pleasure  re- 
entered  the  cabinet  an  hour  after,  attired  in  a  dressing- 
robe  of  violet  velvet,  his  noble  face  looked  fresh,  un~ 
faded  and  reposeful. 

Breakfast  —  chocolate,  deviled  kidneys,  poached  eggs, 

38 


Staunch  of  Heart.  33 

truffles  and  a  Perigord  pie,  with  the  usual  accompani- 
ments of  claret,  Chateau  Haut  Brion  vintage,  coffee  and 
toast — was  on  the  table  with  covers  for  four. 

As  he  entered  Norgate  was  placing  the  bell-shaped 
Moselle  glasses  upon  the  table. 

"Covers  for  four?  Who  breakfasts  here?"  asked  the 
host,  from  whose  mind  the  invitations  and  guests  had 
entirely  departed. 

"Le  Due  d'Olivier,  Lord  Standon  and  Mr.  Paxhorn, 
sir." 

"Oh,  ay — I  had  forgotten,  or  rather  I  thought  it  was 
tomorrow.  You  will  not  forget  the  glass  of  ale  for  the 
duke?" 

"It  is  here,  sir,"  said  the  ever-attentive  Norgate,  mo- 
tioning to  a  bottle  of  Bass  on  a  side  table.  "Also  Mr. 
Paxhorn's  Madeira." 

Adrien  Leroy  nodded,  and,  with  one  foot  on  the  chased 
fender,  idly  opened  his  letters. 

"Where  do  I  dine  tonight?" 

"At  the  Marquis  of  Heathcote's,  sir." 

"At  eight?" 

"Nine,  sir.    Shall  I  put  out  the  diamond  set,  sir?" 

"No ;  no  jewelry,"  replied  his  master,  absently.  "Order 
the  new  cob  for  two  o'clock.  With'  a  snaffle,  I  want  to 
see  how  he  goes." 

"I  will,  sir.  I  may  mention,  sir,  that  Perrier,  the  court 
tailor,  called  for  his  account  for  the  costumes  made  for 
the  Barminster  bal  masque." 

"Refer  him  to  Mr.  Vermont." 

"I  have  done  so,  sir,  several  times,  but  he  persists  in 
his  request  to  see  you  personally.  It  is  a  matter  of  dis- 
count  " 

Adrien  Leroy  waved  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  im- 
patience. 

"Send  him  to  Mr.  Vermont — I  know  nothing  either  of 
his  bill  or  his  discount,  nothing  whatever." 

The  discreet  Norgate  bowed  low  and  retired. 

Adrien  Leroy  continued  reading  his  letters,  his  white 
hands  carelessly  extracting  the  inclosures  from  their  en- 
velopes and  dropping  them  one  by  one,  and  often  unread, 
into  the  flame  before  him. 


34  Staunch  of  Heart. 

A  dash,  clatter  and  rattle  on  the  stones  outside,  the 
flinging  open  of  the  door,  interrupted  him,  and  he  came 
forward  to  receive  his  guests. 

"My  dear  Leroy,  fresh  as  a  daisy !"  exclaimed  the  duke, 
shaking  hands  with  the  young  leader  of  English  fashion 
with  empressement. 

"Leroy  always  is,"  said  the  marquis,  a  fair-haired 
scapegrace,  who  was  sliding  down  the  glaciers  of  life 
to  the  abyss  of  ruin  with  the  most  graceful  good-temper 
and  light-heartedness.  "Nothing  upsets  Leroy." 

"Save  a  bad  dinner,"  added  Algernon  Paxhorn,  the 
latest  literary  lion  and  a  fast  friend,  in  more  senses  of 
the  word  than  one,  of  Adrien  and  the  members  of  his 
clique. 

"We're  punctual,  and  so  is  Norgate,"  said  the  duke, 
as  after  the  usual  salutations  the  quartet  took  their  places 
at  the  table. 

"And  how  went  the  new  comedy?" 

"Consult  the  papers,"  laughed  Adrien  Leroy. 

"And  how  goes  the  fair  Haidee?" 

"As  fairly  as  so  dark  a  beauty  can  go,"  retorted  her 
owner. 

"They  tell  me  she  surpassed  herself  the  other  night," 
said  Paxhorn.  "A  magnificent  tigress  with  diamonds  for 
spots." 

"Not  her  only  blemishes,"  laughed  Adrien,  carelessly. 
"But,  duke,  you  have  only  just  come  from  the  road ;  what 
of  the  new  steeplechase?  Does  my  King  stand  a  chance?" 

"A  chance !"  echoed  all  three. 

"The  odds  are  four  to  one  on  him — and  few  takers," 
added  the  duke. 

The  young  marquis  stopped  with  his  cup  in  his  hand. 
"That  was  yesterday  morning.  I  left  after  you  and 
the  money  was  being  lifted.  You  can  lay  as  many  thou- 
sands on  him  as  you  like,  Leroy,  and  they  will  be  taken." 

"Oh,"  said  Adrien,  nodding  carelessly.  "Something 
better  in  the  field?  I  thought  the  roan  was  not  'to  be 
touched." 

"And  I  also,"  said  the  duke.  "I  can't  understand  it; 
the  only  new  entry  was  a  weedy,  roughish-looking  chest- 
nut, which  a  little  Yorkshireman  listed  in  the  afternoon. 
'Holdfast/  they  call  him." 


Staunch  of  Heart.  35 

"He'll  require  more  hustling  than  holding,"  laughingfy 
commented  Paxhorn. 

The  marquis  finished  his  coffee. 

"I'd  back  the  roan  still  for  all  the  rough'  chestnuts 
in  the  world,  Ad;  there's  nothing  can  touch  him." 

"So  Jasper  Vermont  says,"  remarked  Adrien,  "and  he 
sfaould  know." 

"He's  a  good  judge  of  a  horse,"  admitted  the  duke, 
who  hated  him;  "a  good  judge  of  a  horse,  and  a  man 
too ;  but  I  don't  like  him." 

"A  pleasant  fellow,  too;  always  ready  with  a  jest  and 
a  story,  and  you  enjoy  that,  duke." 

The  Frenchman  nodded  and  twirled  his  waxed  mus- 
tache. 

"True,  when  the  jest  and  the  story  are  told  con  amore, 
but  Jasper  Vermont's  always  fetches  its  price.  That 
man  never  opens  his  mouth  but  with  a  purpose." 

"That  he  may  close  it  again,"  laughed  Paxhorn. 

Adrien  Leroy's  face  darkened  the  slightest  in  the 
world.  Jasper  Vermont  was  his  friend  and  an  ill  word  of 
him  he  reckoned  almost  as  a  disparagement  of  himself. 

"You  misjudge  him,  duke,"  he  said. 

"Possibly,"  said  the  duke,  courteously.  "I  cannot  see 
what  you  find  so  engaging  in  him.  But,  putting  Mr. 
Vermont  aside,  there  can  be  no  two  opinions  respecting 
the  rissoles.  Sarteri  is  a  possession  I  positively  envy  you. 
There  is  not  another  chef  in  England  who  understands 
breakfasts  as  he  does." 

"None,"  echoed  the  marquis.  "If  for  nothing  else, 
Adrien  will  gain  immortality  through  his  cook.  By  the 
way,  have  you  heard  of  the  viscount's  misfortune?  He 
nearly  lost  Girardot.  The  poor  viscount  was  in  despair 
when  the  genius  gave  him  notice." 

"Why  did  he  want  to  go  ?  Was  the  salary  insufficient  ? 
Were  not  Monsieur  Girardot's  apartments  to  his  liking? 
Could  he  not  alter  any  of  the  kitchen  arrangements  to 
his  fancy?" 

"No ;  the  salary  was  large,  the  great  genius  admitted ; 
the  apartment,  the  brougham,  the  kitchen  were  excellent ; 
but  Monsieur  -Girardot's  feelings — sensitive  as  became 
a  genius — would  not  permit  him  to  dress  liver  and  bacon, 


36  Staunch  of  Heart. 

a  dish  of  which  the  viscount  is  particularly  fond.  What 
was  to  be  done?  Liver  and  bacon  or  Girardot?  The 
viscount  chose  the  cook  and  the  dish  will  never  more 
grace  the  Bonchester  table." 

"Poor  viscount !"  exclaimed  Paxhorn,  after  the  laughter 
had  subsided.  "It  reminds  me — but  there,  anecdotes  are 
too  heavy  for  breakfast,  and  spoil  this  Haut  Brion. 
What  wine  have  you,  Adrien — nectar  of  the  gods!" 

"This  is  from  the  emperor's  cellar,"  said  Adrien,  quietly. 
"We  bought  the  whole  lot  of  it,  did  we  not,  Norgate  ?" 

"The  whole,  sir,"  replied  the  valet,  refilling  the  great 
author's  glass. 

"Oh,  give  me  your  divine  malt!"  exclaimed  the  duke. 
"I  have  no  palate  for  the  blood  of  the  vine.  Here,"  as 
Norgate  opened  the  bottle  with  a  pop  and  poured  the 
amber  liquid  into  the  long,  slender  glass  which  the  duke 
held,  "here  is  strength,  vivacity,  sparkle.  It  is  wit  and 
wisdom  condensed.  Ah!"  and  with  a  long  breath  he 
set  the  glass  down  emptied. 

The  marquis  laughed. 

"  'Wine,  weeds  and  women'  are  reversed  with  you, 
duke.  'Bass,  briar  and  Baltic'  is  your  motto." 

This  raised  a  laugh,  in  which  the  duke,  who  owned  a 
yacht  and  was  as  devoted  to  cut  cavendish  as  he  was  to 
bottled  ale,  joined  heartily. 

Jest  followed  jest,  the  laughter  grew  more  frequent. 

Norgate,  when  the  repast  was  disposed  of,  cleared 
away  the  remains  with  the  noiseless  rapidity  of  a  genii. 
A  card  table  of  ormolu,  inlaid  with  ebony  and  mother-of- 
pearl,  was  opened,  and  the  four  were  soon  deep  in  lans- 
quenet 

Adrien  Leroy  was  fond  of  gambling,  liking  it  for  the 
excitement  only.  The  money  was  its  least  inducement. 
He  never  cared,  seldom  knew,  if  he  lost  or  won;  the 
game  over,  all  interest  had  vanished  and  the  results  were 
matters  of  indifference  to  him. 

This  morning,  cheered  and  exhilarated  by  the  rare 
wine,  they  played  high.  Leroy  and  the  duke  lost  heavily 
as  stakes  go,  a  matter  of  a  thousand  pounds,  but  Adrien 
Leroy  tossed  the  notes,  which  he  took  from  a  small 
drawer  in  the  table,  unlocked  and  unprotected,  with  a 
light  lau£  '  ~H  3,  ireless  smile. 


Staunch  of  H'eart.  37 

"A  close  run,  duke ;  had  they  not  played  the  knave  we 
should  have  won.  Another  hand?" 

"No,"  laughed  the  duke,  glancing  at  the  timepiece,  up- 
held by  a  bronze  figure  of  the  inexorable  Father.  "No, 
I  have  broken  faith  with  Lady  Merivale  by  half  an  hour." 

"What  is  it — picture  galleries,  duke?"  laughed  the 
marquis. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  duke,  "I  promised  her  ladyship  to 
escort  her  and  three  other  charming  mademoiselles  to  the 
winter  exhibition." 

"Ah,"  laughed  Paxhorn.  "I  see  the  grim  shade  of 
matrimony  hovering  over  your  head.  Beware!" 

The  duke  arose  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a 
good-natured  laugh. 

"Thanks,  Pax;  I'll  remember,  be  where  I  will." 

"Atrocious!"  exclaimed  Adrien,  shaking  hands  and 
pointing  to  a  cigar  box.  "Leave  me  with  a  light  in  your 
mouth,  if  you  haven't  it  in  your  head,  Standon." 

When  they  had  gone  the  host  stood  looking  at  the 
empty  chairs  absently. 

"What  next?" 

Norgate  answered  the  unspoken  question  by  entering 
and  announcing  that  the  new!  cob  was  at  the  door. 

As  he  descended  the  stairs  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  en- 
tered the  hall. 

"Ah",  just  in  time,"  he  said,  with  his  amiable  smile. 
"Where  is  it— the  Park  or  the  Richmond  Road?" 

"Neither.  I  really  don't  know,"  said  Adrien,  shaking 
the  smooth,  fat  hand  of  his  homme  d'affaires.  "Have  you 
seen  the  cob?  What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"Worthy  even  of  the  Leroy  stables,"  replied  Jasper, 
walking  with  the  owner  to  the  door  and  regarding  the 
showy  horse  with  head  drooped  aside. 

"Capital.  By  the  way,  I  have  just  left  Haidee  in  tears. 
Poor  girl,  repentance  followed  close  upon  repletion.  She 
vows  and  promises  to  abstain  from  pork  chops  and  pat- 
chouli and  prays  for  the  return  of  your  smiles." 

Leroy  smiled  rather  gravely. 

"What  has  Haidee  done  to  gain  so  eloquent  an  advo- 
cate, Jas  ?  Poor  girl !  Where's  the  need  for  pity  ?  Pork 
chops  are  natural  to  such  appetites.  Enough  of  her,  and 


38  Staunch  of  Heart. 

'all  her  kind ;  I  am  not  fickle — in  gifts,  at  least — whatever 
'I  may  be  in  the  matter  of  love.  But,  Jas,  what  of  this 
rough  chestnut  they  have  entered  for  the  steeplechase?" 

Jasper  Vermont  dropped  his  thick  white  eyelids  over 
his  dark,  restless,  little  eyes  for  a  moment,  then  raised 
them  with  a  laugh. 

"Do  you  mean  the  screw  entered  yesterday,  or  the  day 
before  by  a  Yorkshireman ?  Oh,  he  is  all  right;  can't 
run  the  course,  I  should  think,  let  alone  the  last  rise. 
Nothing  can  touch  the  roan.  I'm  a  poor  man,  as  you 
know,  sir,  or  I'd  cover  King  Cole's  back  with  guineas." 

"Do  it  for  me,"  said  Leroy,  with  his  careless  laugh, 
and,  passing  down  the  steps,  vaulted  into  the  saddle. 

"What!  another  thousand?"  said  Jasper,  in  a  lower 
voice — almost  an  eager  one. 

"Two,  if  you  like,"  said  the  princely  owner,  and  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand  as  a  signal  for  the  groom's  release  of 
the  horse's  head  and  adieu  to  Jasper,  he  trotted  off. 

Jasper  Vermont  looked  after  him  with  a  smile;  then, 
stroking  the  place  where  a  mustache  would  have  been  a 
relief,  passed  up  the  stairs. 

Entering  the  cabinet,  he  glanced  at  the  cards  and  the 
wineglasses  with  an  evil  look  that  vanished  or  changed 
into  the  old  smile  as  Norgate  entered  the  room. 

"Breakfast  ?"  asked  Mr.  Vermont. 

"Yes,  sir.  The  duke,  Marquis  of  Standon,  and  Mr. 
Paxhorn." 

"Lansquenet,  too,"  said  Mr.  Vermont. 

"Yes,  sir,  and  Mr.  Adrien  lost." 

"That's  quite  an  unnecessary  addendum,"  said  Mr. 
Vermont,  putting  his  hat  on  with  the  pleasantest  smile  in 
the  world.  "Quite  unnecessary.  Mr.  Adrien  always 
does,  Norgate,  always  does." 


Meanwhile  the  victim  of  ill  luck  rode  through  the 
great  squares  into  the  noise,  bustle  and  confusion  of  Ox- 
ford Street. 

"Soho,  Cracknell  Court?  Yes  sir;  first  opening  to 
your  left,"  replied  a  man,  of  whom  Adrien  Leroy  had 


Staunch  of  Heart.  39 

asked  direction,  and  the  horse's  head  was  turned  toward 
the  point  indicated. 

Cracknell  Court  was  small,  evil-smelling,  and  swarmed 
with  children. 

Throwing  the  reins  to  a  post  lounger,  the  man  of  pleas- 
ure, to  whom  dust,  noise  and  evil  smells  were  things  car- 
rying absolute  pain,  entered  the  den  and  asked  for  Mr. 
Johann  Wilfer. 

"There  he  is,"  said  an  urchin  with  the  years  of  an  in- 
fant and  the  wan,  pale  face  of  an  old  man. 

Adrien  Leroy  turned  to  a  man  leaning  against  an  open 
door,  and  touched  his  hat. 

Kings,  cardinals  and  gentlemen  of  blue  blood  are  some- 
times very  wicked,  but  they  are  always  polite. 

"Am  I  speaking  to  Mr.  Johann  Wilfer?"  he  said, 
quietly. 

"You  are,"  said  the  man,  taking  the  begrimed  pipe  from 
his  equally  begrimed  lips,  and  staring  with  bloodshot 
eyes  at  the  handsome,  high-bred  face  and  princely  figure. 

"Can  you  tell  me  if  a  young  girl  named  Reah  returned 
to  you  safely  this  morning?"  he  asked,  fixing  his  deep, 
stern  eyes  upon  the  shifting,  bloodshot  ones  of  the  man. 

"Reah,  d'ye  mean?"  replied  the  man.  "Ain't  seen  her 
for  months.  She  ran  away  last  June.  An  awful  young 
thief.  Stole  my  Sunday  togs  and  her  aunt's  best  bonnet. 
That's  all  I  knows  about  her." 

Adrien  Leroy  looked  long  and  fixedly  at  him,  then 
turned  away. 

As  well  expect  to  extract  juice  from  a  grindstone  as  the 
truth  from  one  so  expert  in  falsehood. 

Mr.  Johann  Wilfer  blinked  his  eyes  like  an  owl,  gave  a 
little  sigh  of  relief  as  the  aristocrat  released  him  from  the 
piercing  gaze,  and  stepped  out  on  to  the  pavement  to  get 
a  last  view  of  him  as  he  mounted  the  cob. 

Then,  with  a  leer  at  the  sky,  he  stumbled  up  the  rickety 
stairs  into  the  first-floor  room  and  confronted  a  girl  who 
sat  with  her  pretty  head  leaning  against  her  hand,  and 
said,  with  a  malevolent  chuckle : 

"So  that's  your  game,  is  it?  You're  goin'  in  for  swells 
right  away,  are  yer,  my  gal  ?  Got  your  name  pat  as  a  poll 
parrot.  'Reah/  quite  familiar  and  friendly.  Knows  all 


40  Staunch  of  Heart. 

my  private  business,  I  dessay.  I'll  break  every  bone  in 
yer  body." 

He  stumbled  toward  her  where  she  stood  transformed 
from  deadly  indifferent  despair  to  vivid  color  and  light  at 
the  allusion  to  her  benefactor  and  made  a  grab  at  her 
splendid  hair. 

But,  alert  and  lithe  as  a  leopardess,  she  stepped  back  and 
bounding  across  the  table  slipped  past  him  and  down  the 
stairs,  to  the  head  of  which  he  pursued  her,  looking  over 
the  banister  and  launching  forth  a  long  and  rich  volley  of 
curses. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  GODDESS  OF  PLEASURE. 

The  butterfly  the  ancient  Grecians  made 

The  soul's  fair  emblem,  and  its  only  name — 

But  of  the  soul,  escaped  the  slavish  trade 

Of  mortal  life!     For  in  this  earthly  frame 

Ours  is  the  reptile 's  lot,  much  toil,  much  blame, 

Manifold  motions  making  little  speed, 

And  to  deform  and  kill  the  things  whereon  we  feed. 

COLERIDGE. 

There  was  a  grand  ball  at  Lady  Merivale's,  and  at 
twelve  o'clock  the  countess,  surrounded  by  a  cordon  of 
notabilities,  might  have  been  considered  in  the  height  of 
her  glory. 

But  she  was  not,  for  among  the  handsome  faces  of  her 
petite  court  she  missed  one,  handsomer  than  them  all. 

Eveline,  Countess  of  Merivale,  was  a  beautiful  woman, 
one  of  the  leaders  of  fashion,  ambitious,  with  one  great 
object  in  life,  and  that  was  to  enslave  and  retain  as  at- 
tendant cavalier  the  monarch  of  society,  Adrien  Leroy. 

Lord  Merivale,  Earl  of  Conybeare,  was  held  in  the 
light  of  a  useful  appendage  by  his  beautiful  countess,  an 
encumbrance — slightly  tiresome  but  inevitable — to  the 
great  Conybeare  diamonds. 

H^was  fond  of  his  farm,  detested  society,  loved  his 
shorthorns  and — though  a  courteous  gentleman  and  every 
inch  an  English  peer — was  rather  bored  than  not  by  his 
charming  wife. 

Certainly  Eveline  Merivale  did  not  love  her  lord,  and, 

'as  certainly,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  she  did  not  love 

Adrien  Leroy ;  but  then  it  was  the  sauce  piquante  to  her 

brilliant  existence  to  fancy  and  make  believe  that  she  did. 

It  was  an  amusement  to  correspond  in  cipher  with  the 
languid,  aristocratic  Apollo.  It  gave  a  charm  and  a  dash 
of  ecstasy  to  the  otherwise  monotonous  luxury  of  exist- 
ence to  plan  meetings  with  him  at  the  houses  of  convenient 
relatives,  beneath  the  shades  of  Brierly  Park  Beeches,  in 

41 


42  Staunch  of  Heart. 

Louis  Quartorze  rooms  at  Richmond,  and  to  dawdle 
through  summer  afternoons  exchanging  Tennysonisms 
and  diluted  Owen-Meredithisms  with  the  almond-eyed, 
golden-haired  son  of  the  house  of  Barminster.  Not  for 
the  world  would  her  ladyship  raise  a  scandal;  she  loved 
her  diamonds — that  was  certain — far  better  than  she  loved 
her  attendant  cavalier;  she  prized  her  position  as  Coun- 
tess Conybeare  even  above  the  little  illicit  meetings,  flirt- 
ings and  De  Mussetisms. 

Vanity  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  no  doubt,  for  it  was  a 
grand  thing  and  a  mighty  to  drag  the  godlike  Adrien 
through  the  brilliant  ranks  of  fashion  at  her  chariot 
wheels. 

So  that  at  twelve  o'clock,  though  the  smile  was  serenely 
placid  upon  the  low,  white  forehead  and  ripe,  parted  lips, 
Eveline  Merivale  was  impatient  and  anxious  at  heart,  and 
beneath  the  heavy  folds  of  her  thick  dove-colored  satin 
the  little,  white-shod  feet  were  beating  a  restless  tattoo. 

The  saloons  were  hot,  though  not  crowded,  for  the 
countess  knew  better  than  to  spoil  the  pleasure  of  two 
hundred  by  the  addition  of  a  third. 

The  glorious  band  was  sending  a  delicious  stream  of 
melody  from  the  music  gallery;  the  silks,  satins  and  jewels 
were  glimmering  and  flickering  in  the  mazes  of  the  deux- 
temps. 

The  band  of  courtiers  wavered,  changed,  passed  away, 
and  their  places  around  the  countess  were  as  quickly  filled 
.up. 

Half-past  twelve,  and  she  grew  more  impatient,  the 
tattoo  quickened  with  the  music,  the  dark,  lustrous  eyes 
shone  not  angrily — that  would  be  bad  breeding — bat  a 
trifle  less  serene. 

"The  countess  looks  riled,"  said  a  waltzer  as  he  passed 
with  his  partner  on  his  arm. 

"Riled!  what  a  word,"  replied  the  lady,  gathering  her 
white  silk  around  her. 

"And  yet  how  descriptive  and  true  a  one,"  retorted 
Mortimer  Shelton.  "Riled  is  the  word,  and  riled  is  the 
feeling.  See  how  she  smiles  at  little  Lord  Hatley;  she 
wishes  him  anywhere,  I  know.  Strange,  when  you  ladies 
are  savage,  you  should  take  such  pains  to  hide  it." 


Staunch  of  Heart.  43 

The  lady  laughed — she  was  a  bright  little  brunette, 
flushed  with  the  dance  and  thoroughly  happy. 

"Why  should  we  wear  our  hearts  upon  our  sleeves  for 
such  daws  as  the  Honorable  Mr.  Shelton  to  peck  at? 
Our  little  art  of  dissembling  is  all  we  possess,  you  know. 
And  so  you  think  the  countess  looks  angry?  So  she 
does;  but  how  beautiful  she  is!" 

"Marvelous,"  said  the  cynic,  adding,  as  his  partner, 
Lady  Chetwold,  of  Chetwold  Park,  looked  up,  "marvel- 
ous that  one  woman  should  praise  another's  looks." 

"Greater  marvel  still  when  men  shall  give  us  credit 
for  a  little  justice  and  mutual  charity.  But  tell  me — you 
know  everything — is  Mr.  Leroy  to  be  here  tonight?" 

"I  should  soon  lose  my  character  for  omniscience  if  I 
professed  knowledge  of  Adrien's  movements,  Lady  Chet- 
wold. He  was  to  have  been  here  tonight,  but  whether  he 
will  be  is  quite  another  matter.  Perhaps  Lady  Merivale 
is  as  uncertain  as  I  am,  and  that  may  explain  the  sweet- 
ness of  the  smile  which  I  see  has  at  last  extinguished 
poor  little  Hatley." 

"You  are  very  dreadful,"  laughed  her  bright  little  lady- 
ship, fanning  herself.  "I  am  almost  afraid  of  you,  Mr. 
Shelton.  Cynics  are  so  wicked." 

"And  women  love  wickedness,"  said  Mortimer,  stifling 
a  yawn  behind  his  white  hand.  "The  prince  is  here  to- 
night. Have  you  seen  him?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Chetwold.  "I  have  him  down  for 
the  next — if  he  remembers  it ;  he  is  always  so  forgetful." 

"  'Put  not  your  trust  in  princes/  you  know,"  laughed 
Mortimer.  "And  if  his  highness  does  not  claim  you — • 
which  I  am  certain  he  will  do,  or  I  should  not  offer — will 
you  give  it  to  me  ?" 

"No,  certainly  not,"  was  the  quick  retort.  "Caesar  aut 
nullus." 

"Caesar  or  nothing!  Very  well,"  laughed  Mortimer. 
"Here  he  comes,  surrounded,  of  course." 

Then  as  his  highness  came  to  claim  his  partner  the 
Honorable  Mortimer,  with  an  exquisite  languor,  deliv- 
ered her  up,  adding  as  he  did  so: 

"Here  comes  one  greater  even  than  Caesar — look?" 

Lady  Chetwold  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes  and 


44  Staunch  of  Heart. 

saw  that  all  heads  were  turned  toward  the  silken-hung 
entrance. 

An  indescribable  hum  or  buzz,  followed  by  the  half  beat 
of  silence  that  always  precedes  great  men  or  great  events, 
ran  through  the  room ;  then,  as  the  silks  and  satins  parted 
a  little  Adrien  Leroy  was  seen  advancing  up  the  pol- 
ished, mirror-like  floor. 

A  slight  flush,  too  slight  to  be  noticed,  lit  up  the  face 
of  the  countess  as,  making  straight  for  the  hostess,  the 
man  of  the  day  came  leisurely  through  the  throng. 

Well  worthy  of  the  homage  so  fully  paid  him  he  looked. 

Adrien's  beauty  was  of  a  high  order — of  birth  and  blood 
as  well  as  feature.  There  was  nobility  blended  with  the 
grace ;  patrician  was  stamped  on  the  grand,  haughty  face 
and  proclaimed  itself  in  the  perfectly  molded  limbs. 

Put  him  in  a  carter's  smock,  thrust  a  whip  in  the  long, 
white,  shapely  hand,  and  he  would  seem  a  king  in  robe 
of  samite  with  a  scepter  in  grasp. 

Tonight  Norgate  had  pushed  back  the  heavy  golden- 
bronze  hair  from  the  white  forehead,  had  set  priceless 
pearls  in  the  wrists  and  snowy  shirt  front,  had  with  mar- 
velous nicety  circled  the  column-like  neck  with  a  loose, 
graceful  collar  and  tied  the  thick  band  of  lawn  in  a  mas- 
sive knot  under  the  throat. 

A  greater  than  Caesar,  certes,  for  this  king  needed  no 
court;  nothing  could  elevate  or  lower  him.  He  was  the 
idol  of  society,  the  absolute  ruler  of  fashion. 

"That  is  he!" 

"An  Oriental  beauty,  and  yet  so  English,  so  massive," 
muttered  a  Spanish  ambassador. 

"Ay,  those  limbs  are  built  like  steel,  monseigneur,  and 
I  have  seen  that  thin  lady-hand  break  down  the  guard  of 
Francoise  Deullot  himself,"  responded  an  English  dip- 
lomat. 

With  serene,  bland  calm,  utterly  unconscious,  or  at  least 
utterly  indifferent  to  the  attention  and  admiration  that  ac- 
companied his  every  step,  Adrien  Leroy  bent  over  the 
countess'  hand  with  his  kingly  courtesy,  murmuring  in 
his  clear,  musical  tones  his  greeting ;  then  turned  to  shake 
hands  with  the  prince,  who,  as  profound  an  admirer  of 
the  popular  idol  as  the  lesser  lights,  had  paused  to  ex- 
change a  word  before  the  dance  commenced. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  45 

Adrien  sank  into  the  velvet  lounge  beside  the  countess. 

"You  do  not  scold  me,  belle  reine,"  he  said,  in  his  low, 
soft  voice,  "and  yet  I  could  lay  the  blame  on  other  shoul- 
ders. I  have  been  dining  with  Pomfret,  the  duke  and 
Vignard  at  the  club.  You  know  Vignard's  dinners — 
simply  perfection.  Pomfret  was  in  the  best  possible  form 
and  escape  was  impossible.  But  now  I  am  here  at  last. 
Have  you  saved  me  a  dance  ?" 

"You  do  not  deserve  one,"  she  said,  looking  down  upon 
him,  all  her  impatience  and  irritation  melting  beneath  the 
magic  of  his  smile  and  the  music  of  his  voice. 
,     "It  is  the  one  great  mercy,  ma  belle,"  he  retorted,  "that 
one  does  not  get  one's  deserts  in  this  world." 

She  gave  him  the  programme  with  a  half  sigh. 

"I  saved  you  the  next,"  she  said,  "foolish  as  ever." 

"Gracious  and  sweet  as  ever,"  he  said.  "How  should 
my  rose  be  otherwise?" 

She  looked  before  her  dreamily,  letting  the  soft  phrase 
go  and  pass  unheeded. 

"You've  been  to  Barminster?"  she  said,  presently. 

He  nodded,  and  settled  himself  more  comfortably. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"The  baron  sees  more  of  his  darling  now,"  she  said. 
"I  thought  filial  affection  never  ran  very  hotly  in  the 
Leroy  blood." 

"Nor  does  it,"  he  said,  with'  a  low  laugh.  "Business, 
my  dear  Eveline,  odious  business,  into  which  Jasper  per- 
sistently inveigles  me." 

"I  thought  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  was  the  new  machine 
through  which  all  your  business  troubles  were  manipu- 
lated." 

"So  thought  I,"  he  said.  "But  one  must  turn  the  handle 
even  of  machines.  There  are  signatures  and  other  forms 
which  must  be  gone  through,  at  least  Jasper  says  so." 

"And  how  is  the  baron?"  she  said. 

"Well,"  he  replied. 

"And  Lady  Constance?"  she  said,  with'  the  slightest 
dash  of  cold  restraint  in  her  voice. 

"Also  well,"  he  replied,  nodding  to  a  man  who  entered. 

"She  is  staying  at  the  castle,  I  suppose?"  said  the 
countess,  with  an  indifference  almost  too  marked. 


46  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  absently ;  then  added :  "You  do  not 
ask  after  King  Cole." 

"Ah,  no.    He  shares  the  general  good  health,  I  trust?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"He  will  win,  you  still  think  ?"  she  said. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  replied.  "Vermont  says  there  is  nothing 
in  the  field  worthy  to  be  named  with  him." 

The  countess  raised  her  eyebrows  and  examined  the 
miniatures  on  her  fan. 

"This  Mr.  Vermont  seems  a  wonderful  man.  You  trust 
him  in  matters  of  business  and  the  stable.  A  connoisseur 
of  wine,  thoroughbreds,  and  a  master  of  precis  and  le- 
galities ;  a  wonderful  man !" 

"Yes/'  he  said,  with  his  low  laugh,  "Jasper  is  a  won- 
derful fellow.  Jasper  has  brains.  Nothing  comes  amiss 
to  him.  With  half  the  worry  he  wrestles  with  daily  I 
should  be  in  my  grave.  He  is  an  invaluable  friend  and 
the  gods  have  been  kind  in  bestowing  him  on  me." 

The  countess  looked  straight  before  her,  but  said 
nothing. 

"Come,"  said  he,  as  the  first  bars  of  a  Strauss  valse 
floated  from  the  gallery,  and,  with  a  sigh  of  enjoyment, 
she  arose  for  the  waltz  she  had  reserved  for  him. 

"No  one  has  my  step  like  you,"  she  breathed,  when 
they  paused  for  rest.  "Adrien,  shall  I  back  King  Cole 
for  another  thousand?" 

The  two  sentences  were  rather  incongruous,  but  they 
were  curiously  characteristic  of  her  ladyship.  The  love 
of  intrigue  and  a  well-bred,  pretty  little  partiality  for  matt- 
ing money  by  a  little  betting  on  the  turf  and  speculation 
in  the  money  market,  both  "sub-rosa,"  of  course,  were  the 
two  principal  traits  of  the  countess'  character. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  as  they  started  again.  "Jasper  has 
put  two  thousand  more  of  mine  on  today.  And  there  he 
is,"  he  added,  as  the  sleek,  carefully  dressed  figure  of  Mr. 
Vermont  entered  the  saloon. 

Mr.  Vermont  did  not  dance.  He  was  one  of  those  men 
whom  you  could  not  imagine  as  threading  the  mazes  of  a 
cotillon  or  swimming  in  circles  to  three-four  time. 

But  though  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  could  not  dance  he 
was  always  welcome  in  every  ballroom. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  47 

The  great  ones  of  May  Fair  would  as  soon  have  thought 
of  omitting  the  great  name  of  Adrien  Leroy  from  their 
invitation  list  as  that  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont. 

Whatever  the  hour,  however  mixed  the  company,  Mr. 
Vermont  had  always  a  smile,  a  jest,  or  a  new  and  piquant 
scandal. 

In  the  smoking  room  he  would  rival  Mortimer  Shelton 
in  good-natured  sarcasm.  In  a  dowager  duchess'  boudoir 
he  would  flavor  the  five  o'clock  tea  with  the  neatest  bon- 
mot  and  the  spiciest  demolition  of  her  grace's  nearest 
friend. 

Nothing  came  amiss  to  him,  as  Adrien  Leroy  had  once 
said,  in  his  indolent,  graceful  way — he  was  a  universal 
genius,  a  cyclopedia  of  the  arts  and  sciences,  cool  of  head, 
strong  of  hand  and  ready  of  wit. 

To  the  last  quality  some  of  the  insolent  aristocrats  could 
bear  witness,  for  with  all  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont's  amiable 
smile,  he  could  resent,  smiling  still,  an  impertinence,  and 
deal  back  a  tongue  stroke  with  the  sharpest  word-fencer. 

Tonight  he  was  at  the  countess'  ball  for  no  purpose, 
apparently,  but  to  enjoy  the  bright  colors  of  the  scene  and 
the  gayety  of  the  atmosphere.  His  sharp  little  eyes  were 
like  pretty  snakes  behind  their  heavy  lids,  his  little,  fat 
hands  clasped  each  other  behind  his  back  in  a  mutual 
caress  of  confidence,  and  his  thick  neck  wagged  his  smooth 
head  and  face  to  the  rhythm  of  the  music,  as  if  hands, 
neck  and  face  thoroughly  enjoyed  it. 

Mortimer  Shelton  came  upon  him  thus,  and  muttered : 
"Vishnu  gloating  over  the  destined!  victims!"  to  hHs 
neighbor. 

But  Mr.  Jasper  did  not  hear  him  or  if  he  did  he  took 
no  notice,  and  smiled  on  till  the  passers-by  seemed  bathed 
in  the  effulgence  of  his  universal  benediction. 

The  small  hours  came  on  and  the  carriages  crashed  and 
crowded  in  the  streets  and  squares  around  the  house,  that 
looked  like  a  huge  lantern  with  the  light  streaming  in 
great,  glaring  floods  through  the  huge  windows. 

In  the  crush  Leroy,  with  the  Marchioness  of  Engleton 
on  his  arm,  came  against  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont. 

"The  brougham  is  at  the  corner.  Supper  at  St.  James*, 
you  remember  ?" 


48  Staunch  of  Heart. 

Leroy  nodded. 

"Ah,  yes,  very  well,"  and  they  were  parted  again. 

"The  Marchioness  of  Engleton's  carriage!"  shouted 
the  groom  of  the  hall,  and  through  the  long  line  of  foot- 
men, towering  in  his  graceful  height  a  foot  above  the  titled 
aristocratic  throng,  Adrien  Leroy  Steered  the  marchioness 
to  the  carriage,  stood  bareheaded  until  it  had  moved  on, 
and  then,  nodding  languid  good-nights  to  the  shower  of 
farewells  that  were  eargerly  bestowed  upon  him,  strolled 
to  the  corner,  where  his  night  brougham  stood  waiting. 

Mr.  Jasper  Vermont,  who  always  managed  to  penetrate 
the  densest  crowd — owing  to  the  oil  in  his  composition, 
Montague  Shelton  said — was  already  at  the  door,  looking 
at  the  horses,  and  fumbling  for  his  cigar  case. 

Adrien  Leroy  stood  for  a  moment,  with  his  hands  thrust 
into  the  pockets  of  his  white  beaver  overcoat,  looking  at 
the  struggling  crowd,  a  smile  of  half -contemptuous,  half- 
puzzled  amusement  on  his  noble  face. 

"Look,  Jasper,"  he  said,  nodding,  with  a  curl  of  the,  lip 
that  was  more  weary  than  scornful.  "Look  at  them.  It  is 
hard  work.  And  they  call  it  pleasure — live  and  die  for  a 
few  hours  nightly  in  a  crowded,  poisoned  room,  and  a 
hand-to-hand  struggle  in  the  dark  and  mire  of  the  streets 
afterward.  Pleasure !  And  there's  no  prophet  to  rise  and 
proclaim  it  madness !" 

"No,"  laughed  Mr.  Jasper.  "Prophets  know  better. 
We  should  stone  them,  as  we  always  have  done,  ever  since 
this  exquisite  conglomeration  of  folly,  'the  world/  was  set 
rolling.  Prophets!  We  should  not  profit  by  them,  I 
fancy!" 

Adrien  Leroy  laughed. 

"Your  alchemy  is  a  potent  one,  Jasper  mine.  It  turns 
all  things  to  jest,"  he  said,  stepping  into  the  brougham. 

"The  truest  metal  of  the  world's  word  coinage,  after 
all,"  said  Mr.  Vermont.  "Everything  goes  down  before 
it — states,  dynasties,  and  a  woman's  reputation." 

The  splendid  horses — a  recent  purchase  of  their  lordly 
master — pawed,  reared  and  plunged,  then  sped  away, 
their  iron-plated  hoofs  striking  the  round  stones  as  if  in 
scorn  of  all  things  earthly,  and  the  two  moralizers  on  the 
vanity  of  the  fair  were  driven  to  a  fresh  booth. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  49 

Then,  when  the  carriage  was  lost  in  the  darkness,  and 
swallowed  up  by  innumerable  others  rolling  in  the  same 
direction,  from  out  of  the  shadows  of  the  tall  stone  pillars 
of  the  Conybeare  mansion  stepped  the  lithe  figure  of  a 
girl. 

In  the  glare  of  the  salon  lights  she  looked  as  beautiful  as 
an  Egyptian  lotus  flower — her  dark  olive  skin  shining  in 
that  rich,  dusky  tint ;  her  large,  deep  eyes  fixed  fawn-like 
upon  the  tiny,  twinkling  lamps  of  the  departing  vehicle. 

She  smiled. 

The  lips  half  parted  seemed  to  breathe  a  prayer  or  a 
blessing  in  their  tremulous  movement,  and  the  hand — 
small  and  well  formed— was  pressed  against  the  shapely, 
graceful  bosom  with  firmness  of  restraint. 

"How  beautiful  he  is !"  she  murmured,  lost  to  all  sound 
— the  crowd  near  her,  and  lights  beating  upon  her.  "How 
beautiful,  and  how  good !  Oh,  if  I  could  follow  him — be 
near  him!" 

She  turned  with  a  sigh,  and  found  herself  face  to  face 
with  a  small  group  of  men,  fresh  from  the  heat  of  the  ball- 
room, and  thirsty  for  some  fresh  excitement. 

"Ah,  pretty  one !"  exclaimed  one  of  them.  " Alone  and 
stargazing.  Come,  here  are  mortals  thirsting  for  a 
glimpse  of  those  dark  eyes." 

He  seized  her  arm — not  ungently,  but  with  the  playful 
cruelty  of  a  pleasure-hunter,  and  drew  her  to  him. 

"Dark  eyes,  indeed — queen  of  night,"  he  added,  as, 
heedless  of  her  struggles,  he  drew  her  out  of  the  shadow 
into  a  patch  of  light.  "A  Cleopatra,  with  the  addition  of 
godlike  youth.  Estcourt,  what  a  prize!  Will  you  give 
me  a  kiss,  pretty  one?" 

Almost  before  the  question  had  left  his  lips  she  raised 
her  white,  muscular  arm  and  struck  him  across  them. 

So  sudden,  so  unexpected  was  the  blow  that  he  loos- 
ened his  grasp  on  her  arm. 

She  snatched  herself  free  and  darted  like  a  swallow 
into  the  gloom. 

Pursuit  was  useless,  and  the  persecutor,  with  a  puzzled 
and  amused  laugh,  rejoined  his  friends. 

Meanwhile  the  night  brougham  had  set  down  the  two 
friends  at  the  house  in  St.  James'. 


5O  Staunch  of  Heart. 

There  was  a  supper  at  Haidee's,  and  a  room  full  of 
beautiful  women,  stars  of  the  theatrical  and  Terpsichorean 
and  operatic  hemisphere,  were  waiting  for  them. 

The  darkness  gave  way  to  gray  dawn,  and  still  the 
revelry  flew  on. 

Flashes  of  song  flavored  the  wine  that  poured  out  like 
water,  bright  scintillations  of  wit  sharpened  the  shouts  of 
laughter  and  woke  prolonged  applause  from  white,  jew- 
eled hands. 

The  goddess  of  pleasure  was  being  feted  by  her  youth- 
ful worshipers,  and  here,  amid  the  devotees  at  the  very 
shrine,  none  was  a  more  eager  votary  than  Adrien  Leroy. 

See  him  as  he  stood  with  a  golden  goblet  of  sparkling 
Rhine  in  his  right  hand,  his  left  toying  with  the  golden 
tresses  of  a  Spanish  beauty,  his  eyes  sparkling  to  their 
utmost  depths  with  the  elixir  of  pleasure,  his  lips  opened 
to  thrill  out  in  the  deep  music  of  his  voice  the  chorus  to  a 
song  chanted  by  a  bird-throated  prima-donna: 

Ah,  while  the  wine  is  sweet  in  the  cup 

And  the  stars  are  bright  above, 
Care  in  a  kiss  is  swallowed  up 

And  drowned  in  a  draught  of  love! 

See  him  thus  in  the  brightness  and  glory  of  his  youth, 
and  bowing  to  the  splendor  of  his  grace  and  strength — to 
the  majesty  of  his  light,  untrammeled  heart,  look  no 
farther;  for  perchance  in  the  background,  unseen  by  the 
flashing  eyes  of  the  revelers  there  grins  darkly  and  threat- 
eningly a  shadow  with  widespread  wings  of  deathlike  hue 
and  a  face  that  bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  fiend  or 
— Mr.  Jasper  Vermont. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  BARON'S  GALLANTRY. 

These  modern  men  and  days  that  seem 
So  strange  to  me,  remembering 
Those  that  passed  when  this  gray  head 
Bore  youth  upon  its  crest. 

High  up  in  the  woods  of  Buckinghamshire  stood  stately 
Barminster — so  old  that  one-half  its  long-stretched  pile 
had  decayed  to  picturesque  ruin;  so  young  in  the  hearts 
of  the  people  that  the  chubby  village  boys  would  smile  at 
their  fathers'  knees  when  they  spoke  of  the  castle;  so 
grand  in  its  deep-toned,  majestic  red,  relieved  by  the 
sparkling,  innumerable  diamond-latticed  windows,  that 
the  great  marble  palace  of  the  American  millionaire  that 
blared  bombastically  at  the  sun  half  a  dozen  miles  off 
looked  hugely  ugly  and  hideously  vulgar. 

To  say  that  the  Leroys  were  proud  of  their  ancestral 
home  would  be  to  use  the  wrong  expression.  There  had 
been  Leroys  since  William  the  Robber  had  struck  sparks 
from  British  flint  with  his  mailed  heel,  and  Barminster 
Castle  was  the  natural  adjunct  to  the  ancient  glory  of  the 
house.  If  the  Leroys  were  proud  of  anything  it  was  the 
love  and  reverence  of  their  people,  who  in  picturesque, 
far-away  dotted  villages  and  hamlets  surrounded  the  castle 
as  naturally  and  fondly  as  did  the  woods. 

The  forefathers  of  the  Barminster  peasants  followed  the 
Baron  Leroy's  ancestors  to  the  wars,  and  shed  their  blood 
as  liberally  as  the  cascade  in  the  wood  poured  out  its 
water.  In  these  piping  times  of  peace  the  sons  of  the  loyal 
people  followed  still,  with  reverent  looks,  affectionate  in- 
terest, and  the  watchful,  guardful  love  which  would  have 
sprung  into  defiant  faithfulness  if  a  Leroy  had  but  nodded 
toward  the  tattered  standard  in  the  banquet  hall  and 
called  them  to  his  side. 


52  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"God,  King  and  Leroy!"  had  been  the  fearless  battle 
cry  of  the  faithful  folk  when  the  Martyr  King  had  strug- 
gled with  the  Puritan  Cropheads,  and  the  cry  was  not 
yet  forgotten;  the  hearts  that  learned  it  glowed  still 
warm  in  the  present  generation. 

Yet  Baron  Leroy,  present  Lord  of  Barminster,  had  done 
nothing  to  keep  the  flame  of  loyalty  alight  in  the  hearts  of 
the  people.  He  was  a  stern,  austere,  haughty,  unyielding 
old  man — tall,  thin,  white-bearded  and  hawk-eyed.  If  he 
loved  a  single  human  being,  so  vast  was  his  pride,  so  fierce 
his  scorn  for  what  he  would  have  termed  plebeian  weak- 
ness, that  with  natural  facility  he  concealed  the  fact.  If 
he  smiled — there  were  some  who  had  been  about  his  per- 
son who  had  never  seen  the  stern,  knotted  brow  relax — 
it  was  but  in  mockery  of  some  weakness  or  foible  in 
others.  If  the  curtness  of  his  speech  softened  or  grew  less 
harsh,  it  was  but  to  sharpen  the  dart  of  merciless  sarcasm. 

His  attendants  and  members  of  his  retinue — for  the 
servants  at  Barminster  amounted  in  number  to,  and 
seemed  in  appearance,  owing  to  their  claret  livery,  the 
army  of  a  small  German  principality — feared  and  dreaded, 
while  they  loved  him. 

His  friends  were  cautious  in  his  presence,  and  never 
mentioned  his  name  without  a  slight  hesitation,  as  much 
of  respect  as  fear,  for  the  baron's  great  virtue  was  justice, 
in  the  sacred  cause  of  which  his  dearest  bosom  friend — 
had  he  possessed  one — would  have  been  sacrificed  unhes- 
itatingly. 

There  were  many  who  remembered  the  fearful,  merci- 
less punishment  dealt  out  to  many  an  unthinking  parvenu 
who  dared  to  affront  the  Lord  Barminster. 

In  France  his  bright  rapier  was  ever  ready  to  his  iron 
wrist,  in  England  the  heavy-thonged  whip  never  failed 
as  instrument  of  his  wrath  when  chastisement  was  re- 
quired from  him  for  some  slight  or  wrong  he  had  received, 
or  fancied  he  had  received,  at  another's  hand. 

The  law,  mighty  as  it  is,  still  failed  to  enmesh  the  singu- 
lar baron,  for  he  had  a  way,  a  happy  knack  of  punishing 
or  killing  so  completely  that  the  victim  never  escaped  with 
strength  enough  to  obtain  redress. 

Such  was  the  baron,  and  to  read  all  we  have  said  of 


Staunch  of  Heart.  53 

him  it  were  only  necessary  to  look  upon  the  stern  aristo- 
cratic face  and  unbending  figure,  as  he  strode  to  and  fro 
the  mosaic  pavement  of  the  south  terrace  in  the  clear 
brightness  of  the  March  morning. 

The  sun  shone  full  upon  the  dark  velvet  of  his  dressing- 
gown,  and  caught  with  a  thousand  hues  the  facets  of  the 
priceless  diamonds  at  his  white,  slender  wrists. 

At  the  back  of  him  glittered  the  stained  window  of  the 
morning-room.  One  side  thrown  open  to  allow  the  baron 
to  step  out  on  to  the  terrace,  revealed  the  elegant  luxury 
of  the  apartment  on  the  center  table  of  which  gleamed 
the  silver-gilt  breakfast-service,  shadowed  over  by  the 
rising  steam  from  the  silver  urn. 

A  bright  fire  sparkled  in  the  grate,  and  four  Venetian 
mirrors,  dividing  the  rows  of  painters'  masterpieces,  threw 
back,  as  if  with  aristocratic  scorn,  the  wealth  and  beauty 
they  reflected. 

The  baron  stopped  in  his  stroll,  and  turned  his  dark, 
flashing  eyes  on  the  landscape  stretching  beneath  him. 
Through  the  tangled  confusion  of  dark,  massive  woods 
there  lay  a  long  line  of  pasture,  cut  here  and  there  by  dark 
threads  that  were  hedges  of  formidable  height,  and  di- 
vided by  a  streak  of  light,  glittering  silver,  which  was 
the  dangerous  stream  that  formed  the  final  obstacle  in  the 
Barminster  steeple  course. 

All  the  Leroys  had  been  fond  of  horses.  The  Bar- 
minster  stables  had  sent  many  a  satin-coated,  fire-blooded 
colt  to  carry  off  the  gilt  vase,  and  this  race  course,  which 
the  present  baron  so  carefully  kept  up,  had  been  planned 
and  laid  down  by  the  most  famous  of  the  Leroy  Nimrods. 

While  he  looked  at  it  ponderingly,  a  light  footfall  broke 
the  silence,  and  a  hand  as  light  as  the  footfall  rested  on 
his  shoulder. 

He  turned  his  head  with  slow  hauteur — the  Leroys 
never  allowed  even  the  shadow  of  surprise — and  kissed 
with  a  kingly,  condescending  kind  of  courtesy  the  long, 
slender  fingers  that  rested  on  his  velvet. 

"So  early,  Constance  ?"  he  said.  "Who  summoned  you 
from  the  eyrie?" 

"The  larks,"  replied  the  clear,  high-toned  voice  of  a 
woman,  and  Lady  Constance  Tremaine  dropped  her  hand 


54  Staunch  of  Heart. 

from  the  old  man's  shoulder  and  glided  to  the  marble 
balustrade  on  which  his  own  palm  rested. 

A  beautiful  woman  was  Lady  Constance — one  of  the 
faultlessly  faultless  faces  which  the  lover  in  Tennyson's 
"Maud"  half  suspected  in  his  mistress — a  face  that,  with 
a  touch  of  color,  passion,  feeling,  would  have  been  simply 
irresistible. 

But  if  the  delicately-tinted  flesh,  the  large,  almond  eyes, 
the  faultless  mouth,  had  been  but  the  cunningly-devised 
marble  of  Michael  Angelo  it  could  not  have  been  more 
calm,  more  placidly,  proudly  immovable. 

As  they  two,  old  man  and  young  woman,  stood  side  by 
side  in  the  clear  morning  light,  the  resemblance  between 
them  was  marked. 

They  were  related,  too,  for  the  Tremaines  were  some- 
thing akin  to  the  Leroys ;  a  distant  branch  of  the  mighty 
clan,  and  the  pride  which  tainted  the  blood  stirred  in  their 
veins  and  inflamed  their  hearts. 

The  Tremaines  were  a  poor  stock  of  the  great  race,  and 
beyond  the  favors  of  her  mighty  relative,  proud,  beautiful 
Lady  Constance  had  nothing. 

"The  larks,"  she  repeated,  pointing  to  the  heralds  of  the 
morning,  as  they  fluttered  high  up  in  the  blue  azure. 
"Whether  to  call  them  friends  or  foes  I  know  not,  for, 
though  song  is  sweet,  sleep  is  sweet  also,  and  assuredly 
they  rob  me  of  the  latter." 

She  spoke  in  the  low,  subdued  tones  of  her  class,  with 
the  exact  modulation  prescribed  by  refinement,  but  the 
voice,  though  perfectly  musical,  lacked  that  feeling  which 
alone  can  make  it  grateful  to  the  heart  and  ear. 

"What  care  the  larks  for  you?"  said  the  baron,  curtly. 
"They  are,  like  their  masters,  selfish  to  the  core.  So  that 
they  get  their  meed  of  sleep,  the  Lady  Constances  of  the 
world  may  roll  with  tired  and  unsatisfied  lids.  But,  larks 
or  no  larks,  you  look  fresh  and  bright  this  morning,  Con- 
stance, and — base  alloy  to  the  compliment — are  hungry,  no 
doubt." 

"Fairly  so,"  she  replied,  still  looking  out  on  the  land- 
scape, a  family  one  to  her.  "Breakfast  is  waiting.  Lady 
Penelope  will  take  hers  in  solitude  this  morning." 


Staunch  of  Heart.  55 

The  baron  inclined  his  head. 

"So  much  for  mulled  Emillion.  Did  I  not  warn  her? 
Strong  stomachs  may  venture  where  Lady  Penelope's 
equal  feeble  digestion  should  falter." 

Lady  Constance  smiled. 

"Aunt's  headache  is  no  worse  than  usual,  so  the  claret 
has  little  to  answer  for,  my  lord.  How  bright  the  course 
looks  this  morning." 

"Ay,"  he  said,  grimly.  "Like  all  things  that  are  dan- 
gerous, it  is  sweet  to  the  eye.  I  loathe  that  fresh  strip  of 
green,  the  grave  of  many  a  Leroy's  best  hope.  The  turf 
has  been  a  fatal  snare  for  our  race,  girl." 

She  nodded  and  her  eyelids  drooped  a  little. 

"And  yet  you  keep  it  so  carefully." 

"As  a  man  will  treasure  the  poison  or  the  weapon  which 
has  slain  his  sire.  Aye,  let  what  will  happen  the  death  ride 
must  have  its  dressing  and  its  due  attention.  See  where 
that  pollard  droops  over  the  dark  line  of  the  brook?" 

And  he  pointed  with  his  long,  thin  hand  to  a  corner  of 
the  courses. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"A  Leroy — Francis,  Lord  of  Thamescroft,  bled  to  death 
at  its  feet.  See  there  at  the  bend — Geoffrey  Leroy,  in  a 
sterner  chase,  fell  by  a  Crophead's  halberd.  And  there, 
where  the  mound  rises  by  the  hawthorn,  the  brightest  of 
my  father's  brothers  broke  his  neck.  Do  you  wonder  that 
the  -emerald  of  the  turf  turns  crimson  in  my  sight  at 
times,  or  that  the  solitude  of  the  plain  is  filled  by  fancy 
with  a  skeleton  host  who  rides  helter-skelter  for  the  poison 
cup  of  death?  Bah,  these  are  the  mad  shadows  of  a 
dotard!" 

He  broke  off  suddenly  and  turned  to  the  open  window. 

"Adrien  comes  to-day,"  he  said,  curtly,  standing  aside 
and  motioning  her  through  with  a  gesture  of  the  hand 
that  was  more  a  command  than  a  courtesy. 

"To-day?"  repeated  Lady  Constance,  passing  into  the 
room.  "I  thought  the  race  was  to-morrow  and  that  he 
would  not  arrive  until  then." 

"The  race  is  to-morrow.  He  comes  to-day,"  said  the 
baron,  sinking  into  his  carved  chair,  upon  the  back  of 
which  the  Leroy  arms  blazed  in  the  sunlight.  "I  knew  it 


56  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Is  that  all  he  writes?"  asked  Lady  Constance,  filling 
the  dainty  Sevres  cup  and  passing  it  to  him — the  baron 
and  his  niece  dispensed  with  the  attendants  when  break- 
fasting alone — it  pleased  him  to  be  waited  on  by  her 
white  hands  and  noiseless  movements. 

"What  should  he  say?"  he  asked,  grimly. 

"Nothing,"  she  replied,  instantly,  "save  of  his  horse." 

The  baron  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  painted  window. 

"Of  his  horse  or  his  friend,"  continued  Lady  Constance, 
lifting  her  dark  eyes  to  his  face,  "Mr.  Jasper  Vermont 
accompanies  him,  my  lord?" 

The  baron's  face  darkened  and  his  thin  lips  shut  tightly. 

"Ay,"  he  said.  "In  the  old  times  a  Leroy  kept  his 
stewards  and  bailiffs  at  arm's  length,  and  was  not  hail- 
fellow-well-met  with  every  adventurer.  Now  the  days 
are  changed,  and  with  the  steam  engine  over  our  fields 
and  blackening  our  woods,  we  lower  ourselves  to  clasp 
the  dingy  hand  of  a  nameless  club  waif  as  friend  and 
equal.  Yes,  he  comes  with  him,  and  we  shall  gloat  the 
gods  with  the  spectacle  of  a  Leroy  feasting  side  by  side, 
beneath  the  torn  standard  of  the  Martyr,  under  the  very 
roof  which  sheltered  our  king,  with  a  plebeian  snob  whose 
cunning  brains  stand  him  in  the  place  of  blood,  whose  ef- 
frontery is  the  password  which  admits  him  to  his  master's 
table/* 

Low  and  bitter  the  invective  syllables  rolled  out  and 
Lady  Constance's  eyes  scintillated  with  a  sudden,  mo- 
mentary light  as  she  heard  them. 

"It  is  strange  this  liking  Adrien  has  taken  for  his— 
steward,  or  whatever  he  may  call  him;  it  is  unaccount- 
able," she  said,  in  the  even,  musical  tones  with  which  she 
would  as  calmly  deal  out  praise.  "He  is  clever,  perhaps." 

"Your  rogue's  only  virtue,"  said  the  baron. 

"Amusing,"  suggested  Lady  Constance. 

'An  adventurer's  principal  stock  in  trade,"  was  the  curt 
response. 

"And  manages  Adrien's  business  matters  so  admirably." 

"A  sharp  sleight  of  hand,  as  like  as  not.  But  be  it  as  it 
not  till  this  morning,  when  a  messenger  brought  a  note 
from  him,  saying  that  we  should  see  him  at  dinner." 


Staunch  of  Heart.  57 

will,  let  it  rest  We  Leroys  keep  our  hands  from  each 
other's  eyes  though  the  beams  may  blind.  Not  mine  the 
task  to  call  my  son  a  fool  or  strip  the  mask  from  his 
adventurer-friend's  false  face.  Let  it  go.  Whomsoever 
a  Leroy  bids  to  Barminster,  I,  the  lord  of  it,  will  wel- 
come. If  Adrien  chooses  to  warm  adders  at  his  hearth, 
his  the  care  they  do  not  turn  and  sting.  Enough.  Give 
me  some  more  coffee,  and  leave  the  fellow's  name  in 
silence,  for,  by  the  Heaven  above,  I  loathe  it!" 

None  disobeyed  the  baron,  even  by  a  look,  and  with 
lowered  lids  the  Lady  Constance  refilled  his  cup  and  bore 
it  to  his  chair. 

As  she  did  so  his  sharp  eyes  caught  the  glitter  of  a 
bright  piece  of  needlework  across  the  chair  from  which 
she  had  risen,  and,  with  a  curt  gesture  in  its  direction,  he 
said: 

"What  is  that?" 

She  took  it  up  and  opened  it  out  for  him. 

It  was  a  silk  jacket  with  crimson  and  white  stripes; 
Lady  Constance  had  worked  every  stitch  and  blazoned  in 
silver  filigree  the  Leroy  coat  of  arms  upon  the  breast. 

"Hem  I"  he  said,  "a  pretty  piece  of  foolery.  He  rides  in 
it?" 

"For  the  Grand  Military,"  she  said.  "Do  you  think  it 
pretty?' 

"As  a  macaw  in  the  sunlight,"  he  said,  grimly,  and  then 
bent  his  eyes  upon  her  questioningly.  "You  worked  it  for 
him,  girl?" 

She  inclined  her  stately  head. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  with  a  half  smile. 

He  arose,  and,  setting  his  cup  down,  strode  to  the 
window. 

"You  are  not  displeased  that  he  should  wear  my  colors, 
my  lord?"  she  said,  going  to  him  and  touching  his  arm. 

"Whose  else,  girl?"  he  said,  turning  haughtily  upon 
her.  "Whose  else  but  his  bride-elect's?  You  were 
plighted  in  your  cradles.  Leroy  and  Tremaine  are  no 
unequal  match.  Make  his  jacket,  girl,  and" — with  the 
soft,  cruel  smile  which  spared  none—- "win  the  heart  it  will 
cover  if  you  can." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MR.  VERMONT'S  ARRIVAL. 

"Where  *s  that  palace  •whereunto  foul  things 
Sometimes  intrude  not?  SHAKESPEABE. 

If  Lady  Constance  felt  any  pain  at  the  sharp,  bitter 
words  with  which  the  baron  left  her  it  was,  like  all  other 
undignified  emotions,  carefully  kept  hidden  within  her 
breast.  It  was  against  the  tenets  of  the  order  to  which 
she  belonged  to  show  the  pain  of  a  wound  or  the  delight 
of  a  gratified  passion.  Lady  Constance  Tremaine  was 
patrician  to  the  core.  So  the  baron  strode  out  on  to  the 
terrace  with  his  thrust  unparried  or  unreturned,  and  Lady 
Constance  arose  languidly  and  retired  to  her  boudoir. 

If  Adrien  Leroy,  the  prince  of  the  fashionable  world 
and  the  heir  to  all  Barminster,  was  near  at  hand  it  be- 
hooved her  to  look  her  best,  that  she  might,  as  the  baron 
had  bidden  her,  win  the  heart  as  well  as  work  the  jacket. 

Lady  Constance,  beautiful  as  a  hothouse  flower  at  all 
times,  could,  if  she  liked,  make  herself  surpassingly  lovely, 
a  thing  to  strike  astonishment  into  the  hearts  of  beholders 
and  call  up  visions  in  their  eyes  of  the  mystic-tinted  beau- 
ties of  the  Lelys  in  the  Leroy  galleries. 

Her  maid,  a  Frenchwoman,  who  had  tired  imperial 
forms,  understood  the  half  bend  of  the  queenly  head,  when 
her  mistress  said,  in  the  low  but  courteous  accents  with 
which  she  addressed  her  inferiors : 

"Mathilde,  Mr.  Adrien  arrives  to-day." 

"Yes,  miladi,"  responded  the  maid,  and  glided  toward 
the  dressing-room. 

But  now  faint  clouds  of  dust  arose  from  the  roads  that 
like  serpents  twined  toward  the  castle,  the  clouds  grew 
larger  and  larger  and  soon,  amid  a  stir  of  retainers, 
Adrien  Leroy's  courier  dashed  up  to  the  gates  at  the  court- 
yard, and  in  accordance  with  the  time-honored  custom, 
still  upheld  and  rigidly  enforced  by  my  lord  the  baron, 

58 


Staunch  of  Heart.  59 

blew  the  brazen  horn  that  swung  by  a  steel  chain  against 
the  heavy  portals. 

With  a  clang  the  porters  threw  open  the  gates,  and  the 
courier,  an  important  gentleman,  who  had  preceded  his 
young  lord  through  half  the  towns  in  the  civilized  world, 
proclaimed  that  his  master's  carriage  was  on  the  way. 

Instantly,  although  the  bustle  of  preparation  had  been 
going  on  unremittingly  since  the  moment  the  baron  had 
announced  the  news,  a  confused  host  of  menservants 
rushed  to  and  fro  for  a  moment,  then  settled  into  seeming 
order,  ready  to  seize  bridle  or  reins,  packages,  and  port- 
manteaus. 

"My  young  lord,"  as  Adrien  Leroy  was  always  called 
by  the  people  in  defiance  of  Burke  and  the  order  of  pre- 
cedence, "my  young  lord  is  well?"  asked  the  porter,  a 
white-haired  servitor  of  the  courtyard. 

The  courier  bowed  with  gracious  condescension. 

"Quite,  and  handsome  as  ever.  Ah,  monsieur,"  to  the 
baron's  valet,  who  appeared  at  the  door,  followed  by  a 
second  bearing  the  baron's  clothes,  which  the  valet  was 
too  great  to  carry  himself.  "The  compliments  of  the 
morning.  My  lord  the  baron  is  well?" 

"I  thank  you,  yes,"  replied  the  Frenchman,  between 
whom  and  the  German  courier  there  was  eternal  enmity. 
"And  so  my  young  lord  is  on  the  road?  On  wheels  or 
saddle?" 

"Saddle,"  returned  the  courier.  "But  the  carriage  ac- 
companies him.  The  blue  suite,  I  presume." 

The  Frenchman  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

He  was  not  groom  of  the  chambers,  nor  major-domo, 
he  retorted,  sententiously,  and  away  bounded  the  German 
to  find  some  other  official  and  ascertain  where  his  lord 
was  to  be  located. 

Half  an  hour  afterward  the  clouds  of  dust  resolved 
themselves  into  half  a  dozen  gentlemen  on  horseback,  as 
many  grooms,  and  a  traveling-carriage  bringing  up  the 
rear  at  a  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

Lady  Constance  saw  the  cavalcade,  and  waiting  till  the 
rich-toned  voice  was  within  hearing,  stepped  from  her 
soom  on  to  the  balcony  and  leaned  over  with  a  witching 


60  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

smile  as  with  a  clatter  and  a  clanging  of  the  horn  Adrien 
and  his  friends  swept  into  the  courtyard  below. 

The  gentlemen's  hats  flew  off  as  if  by  magic,  and 
Adrien  Leroy,  moving  his  horse  forward,  looked  up,  still 
hat  in  hand,  and  with  his  courtly  smile  said : 

"We  thought  we  had  left  the  sun  behind  us,  sweet 
cousin,  but  she  is  still  overhead !" 

She  looked  down  upon  him  with  an  increase  of  sweet- 
ness in  the  smile  and  raised  a  flower  to  her  lips. 

"That's  a  Persian  compliment,  Adrien;  the  East  has, 
spoiled  you.  Have  you  enjoyed  your  ride  ?" 

"Not  half  so  much  as  the  welcome,"  he  murmured  back, 
catching  the  flower  which  she  let  drop,  and  raising  it  to 
his  lips. 

She  smiled  again  and  turned  her  eyes  with  her  leisurely 
serene  grace  to  the  others,  who,  still  uncovered,  waited 
for  the  boon  of  a  word. 

"Ah,  my  lord,  I  did  not  know  you  were  coming,  but* 
—as  the  marquis*  face  dropped — "unexpected  pleasure* 
are.  sweet  as  rain  in  August.  What  a  beautiful  horses 
your  new  purchase?  Mr.  Pomfrey,  I  have  read  your 
book — and  like  it." 

The  celebrated  author  bowed  to  the  saddle. 

"Duke — it  is  too  far  to  shake  hands — you  cannof 
reach.*' 

And  she  slid  one  dainty  hand  to  the  duke,  who,  riding 
up,  retorted  with'  true  French  gayety : 

"No  mortal  can  reach  so  far,"  and  bent  under  the  hand 
as  if  to  receive  its  benediction. 

Lady  Constance  smiled  and  drew  back. 

"All  farther  courtesies  and  compliments  on  an  equal 
platform,"  she  said,  nodding  her  adieu,  and  the  gentle- 
men, laughing  and  chatting,  sprang  from  their  saddles 
and  passed  under  the  porched  entrance  into  the  castle. 

Leaning  on  the  duke's  arm  Adrien  passed  up  the  great 
hall,  lined  by  its  faithful  and  obsequious  servants,  into  the 
grand  reception-room,  where  in  the  mediaeval  fireplaces 
great  fires  blazed  and  sparkled  on  the  steel  dog-irons 
which  still  held  their  own  in  Barminster  Castle  against  all 
modern  innovations  in  the  shape  of  register  stoves  or 
grates. 

The  room  was  empty,  but  before  all  had  passed  in,  the 


Staunch  of  Heart.  6n 

silken  purple  curtains  of  one  of  the  entrances  were  pushed 
aside,  and  the  mighty  baron  entered. 

He  was  still  in  his  loose  velvet  dressing-gown,  and  as 
he  strode  forward  over  the  mosaic  floor  looked  like  a 
Doge  of  ancient  Venice.  His  stern  face  softened  into  a 
welcome  and  his  long,  thin  hand  was  extended  as  the 
duke  came  forward  to  meet  him. 

"Ah,  duke,  so  you  keep  my  boy  company,  and  you, 
marquis !  gentlemen,  you  are  welcome,  no  need  to  remind 
you  of  that,  I  know.  Adrien,"  and  he  turned  with  his  face 
stern  again,  but  courteous,  "you  have  had  a  fine  day. 
Ride  or  drive?" 

"Ride,  sir,"  answered  Adrien,  his  voice  sounding  like  a 
sweeter,  softer  echo  of  the  old  man's  rich,  deep,  and  some- 
what grim  tones. 

"The  roads  are  in  good  order,  eh,  duke?  But  a  change 
still  from  the  tan  of  the  park." 

"Of  which,  for  my  part,  I  am  heartily  weary,"  said  the 
duke,  with  his  cheery  laugh.  "Give  me  nature  without  a 
corset." 

"And  that  you  will  get  at  Barminster,"  said  the  baron, 
with  a  smile.  "We  are  all  nature,  marquis,  rugged, 
rough-handed  nature,  but  true." 

As  he  spoke  he  glanced  again  at  Adrien,  as  if  his 
thoughts  had  strayed.  Then,  with  a  start,  he  passed  from 
his  side  and  in  his  haughty,  but  thoroughly  courtly  style, 
welcomed  the  remaining1  guests. 

As  his  hand  took  the  last,  Anchester  Pomfrey's,  he 
looked  down  the  room,  back  at  Adrien,  and  gave  vent  to 
an  unmistakable  sigh  of  relief. 

Adrien  Leroy,  almost  as  if  in  response  to  it,  said : 

"Well,  we  are  hungry;  too  early  for  your  luncheon, 
sir?" 

"It  is  set  in  the  south  corridor,*'  said  the  baron,  then 
turning  to  the  duke  with  the  easy  bearing  of  an  equal  in 
rank  but  a  superior  in  years,  he  added :  "I  am  an  old  man 
and  the  fleshpots  of  Egypt  have  little  charm  for  me ;  your 
younger  days  should  still  find  comfort  in  baked  meats. 
Go  and  demolish  them.  I'll  to  my  prayers,  as  Hamlet 
says — or  should  have  said." 

And  with  a  slight  bend  and  a  parting  smile,  he  strode 
igh  the  curtained  doorway. 


62  Staunch  of  Heart. 

Adrien  Leroy  and  his  guests  strolled  tip  the  long  hall, 
and,  by  way  of  a  few  marble  steps  flanked  by  the  heraldic 
stags  bearing  a  coronet,  into  the  south  corridor. 

Here  a  magnificent  luncheon  had  been  laid,  and  Lady 
Penelope  and  Lady  Constance  were  awaiting  them. 

Bowing  over  the  elder  lady's  hand  while  his  friends 
clustered  around  the  younger,  Adrien,  in  the  low,  half- 
weary  tone  habitual  with  him,  murmured  the  usual  salu- 
tations and  sank  into  the  seat  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

Lady  Constance  sat  beside  her  aunt,  but  within  reach 
of  the  young  lord,  and  within  sight. 

Half  a  dozen  servitors  stood  at  a  respectful  distance 
waiting  with  watchful  eyes  for  some  chance  gesture  to 
imply  a  wish  which  they  might  gratify. 

The  meal — if  meal  it  could  be  called — commenced  and 
for  a  few  minutes  silence  profound  dropped  on  all,  then 
Adrien,  setting  down  his  glass,  said,  with  his  low,  light 
laugh : 

"I  was  really  hungry.  Lady  Constance,  there  is  a 
witchery  in  Barminster  air." 

"Or  rather  in  its  sweet  lady's  presence,"  said  the  gallant 
duke. 

"I  do  not  know  what  appetite  is  without  these  walls," 
added  Adrien. 

"And  yet  so  seldom  here,"  said  Lady  Constance,  glan- 
cing down  at  her  plate,  stained  only  by  a  few  grapes. 

"  'Business  and  the  cares  of  state,' "  quoted  Adrien, 
with  his  rare  smile.  "But  I  might  retaliate;  you  seldom 
leave  them.  Why  does  the  court  miss  its  rarest  pearl, 
sweet  coz?" 

"Does  it  miss  it  ?"  she  said,  with  a  smile  of  incredulity. 
"Scarcely,  when  the  casket  overbrims  always.  But,  come, 
you  are  to  tell  us  all  about  the  race.  Are  you  going  to 
win  it?  Aunt  is  dying  to  know,  are  you  not?" 

And  she  turned  to  Lady  Penelope,  who  made  her  usual 
answer : 

"Yes,  my  love." 

"Oh,  Adrien  always  wins,*'  said  the  marquis.  "That  is 
a  matter  of  course.  But  you  have  seen  the  King  last. 
Lady  Constance,  surely?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  replied.  "He  is  exercised  on  the  lawn 
before  my  window  every  morning  and  receives  due  ad- 


Staunch  of  Heart.  63 

miration.    He  is  a  fine  fellow,  and  in  what  you  gentle- 
men call  'fine  form.' " 

Adrien  smiled. 

"Poor  King  Cole;  to-morrow  he  runs  for  his  dynasty. 
By  the  way,  Ireton,  are  any  of  the  other  horses  down?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ireton.    "A  lot  my  man  saw  at  the  station." 

"The  rough-legged  screw  among  them,  I  suppose," 
said  the  duke. 

"No,"  said  Chudleigh.  "He  was  not.  My  man  re- 
marked his  absence." 

"Perhaps  the  owner  has  learned  wisdom  and  with- 
drawn him,"  said  Adrien. 

"It  is  to  be  hoped  so,  for  his  own  sake,"  laughed  the 
marquis. 

The  topic  so  lightly  touched  led  off  to  town  news,  of 
which  Pomfrey  had  a  budget,  which  in  true  literary  style 
he  unfolded  delightfully. 

Among  a  peal  of  well-bred  laughter  the  ladies  arose, 
and  the  gentlemen  hastened  to  draw  back  the  curtain  for 
them  to  pass. 

"In  half  an  hour  then,"  said  Lady  Constance,  looking 
back  at  Adrien,  and  referring  to  a  ride  he  had  begged  of 
her. 

"In  half  an  hour,"  he  said,  inclining  his  head,  and  then 
passed  into  the  hall. 

The  gentlemen,  still  standing,  sipped  their  last  draughts 
of  wine  and  planned  out  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

It  was  liberty  hall  at  Barminster  Castle ;  neither  guests 
nor  host  dragged  upon  one  another,  and  all  programmes 
were  unfettered. 

While  they  talked  Adrien  strode  to  the  window. 

"By  Jove!  I  had  forgotten  Jasper,"  he  said,  with  a 
slight  elevation  of  his  straight  eyelids.  "Here  he  is,  step- 
ping out  of  the  carriage  like  a  Roman  emperor  in  tweeds." 

He  nodded,  with  his  short  smile,  to  Mr.  Vermont,  as, 
surrounded  by  servants  who  seemed  anxious  to  carry  him 
bodily  into  the  hall,  so  eager  were  they  to  serve  him, 
he  pushed  them  aside  and  with  his  amiable  smile  strolled 
into  the  reception-room. 

As  he  entered  at  one  end  the  baron  pushed  the  curtains 
aside  at  the  other,  and  seeing  him,  stopped  in  his  stride 


64  Staunch  of  Heart. 

and  stood  dark  and  statuesque,  apparently  unconscious 
of  his  son  and  his  guests,  who  were  looking  on  from  the 
entrance  to  the  corridor. 

The  cloud  was  dark  on  the  baron's  brow,  for  the  ab- 
sence of  Mr.  Vermont  from  the  party  had  raised  the  hope 
in  his  mind  that  his  son  had  left  the  "adventurer"  in  Lon- 
don. It  was  a  rude  shock  and  one  that  intensified  the 
hatred  the  old  man  felt  for  the  smiling  plebeian  to  find 
that  hope  dispelled.  j 

Mr.  Jasper  saw  the  cloud,  but  his  smile  did  not  lose  a ' 
tittle  of  its  amiability;  his  step,  soft  and  assured,  never 
slackened   nor  quickened    as,    approaching    with    well- 
feigned  if  not  genuine  case,  he  bowed  before  the  tall, 
princely  figure. 

"Good-morning,  my  lord !  I  trust  I  see  you  in  perfect 
health?" 

The  baron  struggled  to  forget  all  but  the  duties  of  a 
host,  bent  his  white  head  and  extended  his  hand  grimly. 

"You  do,  sir.  I  am  in  good  health.  You,  I  fear,  are  an 
invalid?" 

And  he  turned  his  sharp  eyes  with  a  bitter  smile  toward 
the  close  carriage  from  which'  the  dainty  Mr.  Vermont 
had  just  alighted. 

"No,  my  lord ;  quite  well,  I  thank  you,"  he  replied,  as  if 
perfectly  unconscious  of  the  irony.  "But  I  have  acquired 
some  wisdom  in  my  journey  through  life;  enough  to 
teach  me  that  all  other  journeys — nay,  that  included, 
should  be  taken  as  comfortably  as  possible.  I  prefer  the 
ease  of  the  cushion  to  the  discomfort  of  the  saddle,  and 
the  clear,  thbugh  confined,  air  of  a  traveling-carriage  to 
an  atmosphere  of  dust.  Am  I  not  right?" 

"Perfectly,  no  doubt.  Mr.  Vermont  should  know  what 
suits  his  peculiar  constitution  best,"  said  the  baron,  add- 
ing, with  a  smile  which  always  made  his  thrust  more 
bitter:  "Different  bloods  require  different  treatment,  I 
presume." 

Mr.  Vermont  smiled,  and  as  he  passed  on  to  the  cor- 
ridor, muttered,  perhaps  not  inaudibly: 

"Your  lordship  does  indeed  presume." 

Then  as  the  baron,  with  lowered  brows,  strode  away, 


Staunch  of  Heart.  65 

Mr.  Jasper  tripped  on,  in  his  soft,  easy  fashion,  and 
laughingly  sat  himself  at  the  luncheon  table. 

"What  an  amusing  dog  that  Norgate  of  yours  is. 
Adrian,"  he  said.  "He  took  the  spare  hack  down,  and  I 
have  had  the  greatest  treat  in  the  world  gazing  at  his  mis- 
eries. The  fellow  has  no  more  idea  of  a  horse  than  a 
Venetian;  he'll  be  sore  for  a  week,  and  the  animal  has 
ruined  his  new  suit." 

Then  amid  the  laughter  of  the  aristocrats,  who  how-  , 
ever  much  they  hated  him  never  refused  to  be  amused 
by  him,  Mr.  Jasper  drew  an  inimitable  picture  of  the 
luckless  valet  and  mimicked  his  contortions  and  mishaps 
with  the  supreme  art  of  a  comedian. 

Adrien  had  passed  out  in  the  middle  of  the  sketch  and, 
with  a  cigar  between  his  lips,  sauntered  into  the  court- 
yard and  thence  to  tl<e  stables. 

The  grooms  and  keepers  flew  about;  tugging  at  their 
forelocks,  and  one  was  dispatched  for  the  head  groom, 
who  made  his  appearance,  struggling  into  his  coat  and 
coughing  with  embarrassed  respect. 

His  master  nodded. 

"Good-morning,  Barkham.     Where  is  the  King?" 

"In  the  south  stable,  my  lord,"  replied  the  man,  fum- 
bling in  his  pocket  for  the  keys.  "Would  your  lordship 
like  to  see  him?" 

Adrien  nodded  and  strode  off  to  the  stables,  the  groom 
following  him. 

As  the  man  inserted  the  key  in  the  lock,  Adrien  said : 

"No  one  has  the  entree  of  the  stable  but  yourself, 
Markham?" 

"No  one,  my  lord.  I'm  always  here  when  he's  being 
littered  or  fed.  Not  a  soul  touches  him  without  I'm  at 
his  side.  He's  in  fine  condition  my  lord;  I  never  saw! 
him  in  better." 

Adrien  passed  in  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  silky  coat ' 
of  his  great  race  horse.  The  dainty  creature  pricked  up 
its  finely-pointed  ears  and  turned  to  his  lord  and  master 
with  a  whinny  of  delight. 

"He  does  look  well,"  admitted  Adrien.  "Has  he  had 
his  gallop  this  morning?'* 


66  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Yes,  my  lord;  but  would  you  like  to  see  him  across 
the  paddock?" 

"Yes,"  said  Adrien.  "By  the  way,  who  rides  him  to- 
morrow ?" 

"Peacock,  my  lord." 

"Ah,  the  new  jockey,"  said  Adrien. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Jasper's  lad,"  said  the  groom. 

"A  good  seat?"  asked  Adrien. 

"Capital,  never  saw  better,  my  lord,  and  weighs  noth- 
ing. I'll  send  for  him,  my  lord,  if  you  would  like  to  see 
him." 

"Db,"  said  Adrien. 

And  Mr.  Markham,  setting  a  whistle  in  his  mouth,  pro- 
duced, as  if  by  magic,  half  a  dozen  stable  helps  from  the 
yard. 

"Tell  Mr.  Peacock  his  lordship  wishes  to  see  him," 
said  Mr.  Markham. 

And  away  started  the  boys. 

In  a  few  minutes,  during  which  the  head  groom  led  the 
precious  King  into  the  yard  and  saddled  him,  the  jockey 
arrived. 

Mr.  Markham  had  called  him  a  lad,  but  in  truth  he 
was  a  middle-aged  man  with  the  stunted  stature  of  a  boy 
— an  odd  face  and  figure  to  look  at  and  scarcely  one  to 
admire,  for  nature,  not  satisfied  with  robbing  him  of 
manhood's  strength  and  stature,  defrauded  him  of  every 
pretention  to  comeliness  of  feature. 

Adrien  looked  him  over  critically. 

"You  ride  the  King  to-morrow?"  he  asked. 

"I  do,  my  lord,"  replied  the  dwarf. 

"Take  him  around  the  paddock,"  said  Adrien. 

And  the  jockey,  throwing  off  the  thick  coat  by  means 
of  which,  in  addition  to  three  large  woollen  comforters, 
he  retained  his  skeleton  condition,  sprang  into  the  saddle, 
and,  keeping  a  tight  rein  on  the  tender  mouth,  took  the 
racer  to  the  long  strip  of  meadow  land. 

Adrien  stood  with  his  arms  folded,  but  with  a  glow  of 
pride  in  his  dark  eyes,  watching  the  bird-like  flight  of 
the  superb  animal,  as  almost  unencumbered  by  the 
feather-weight  on  his  back,  he  sped  around  the  paddock, 
and  returned  fresh  and  lightly  to  the  starting  point. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  67 

[Adrien  nodded,  and  the  jockey  dropped  from  his  saddle. 

"You  will  do,"  said  his  master ;  "ride  like  that  to-mor- 
row and  we  shall  win.  There  is  claret  money  for  you — no 
beer,  mind." 

And,  as  he  turned  away,  he  held  out  a  ten-pound  note 
to  him. 

The  jockey  stared  at  the  note  for  a  moment,  then 
crouching  almost  like  a  dog  he  came  forward  and  took  it 
by  its  extreme  edge. 

Adrien  smiled. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  man;  one  would  think  you  expected 
a  blow." 

The  man  started,  took  the  note,  and,  with  three  tugs 
at  his  forehead,  turned  to  the  heap  of  coats  and  neck- 
clothes. 

Adrien  walked  away,  but  happening  to  glance  back  at 
Markham,  who  was  re-covering  the  King,  saw  that  the 
withered  morsel  of  humanity,  with  one  arm  in  his  great- 
coat, was  still  gazing  after  him  with  the  same  curious 
stare. 

"These  poor  creatures  sweat  their  brains  away  as  well 
as  their  flesh,"  he  thought,  adding  lightly,  "foolish  to 
give  him  anything  till  after  the  race.  I  must  fell  Mark- 
ham  to  see  he  doesn't  get  drunk  to-night,  or  the  King 
will  get  away  and  run  wild." 

In  the  courtyard  Lady  Constance's  Arabian  and  his 
own  hunter  were  being  walked,  ready  saddled. 

As  he  turned  in  her  ladyship  emerged  from  the  arched 
entrance. 

Lady  Constance  had  been  blessed  by  nature  with  a  fine 
figure.  Art,  as  represented  by  French  modistes  and  Ger- 
man tailors,  had  put  the  extreme  finishing  touch.  The  re- 
sults were  that  Lady  Constance  Tremaine,  whether  in 
court  silks  or  blue  riding  habit,  was  that  thing  of  beauty 
which  is  a  joy  forever  in  the  minds  of  those  who  have 
once  seen  it. 

Beautiful  as  a  fashionable  Venus  she  looked,  with  her 
gathered  skirts  of  her  habit  in  her  perfectly  gloved  hands, 
and  another  besides  Adrien  Leroy  was  sensible  of  her 
divine  loveliness. 


68  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

That  other  was  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont,  who,  with  that 
powerful  tact  which  procured  him  access  to  all,  elected 
himself  as  chief  slave  to  her  ladyship,  and  whenever  he 
was  at  Barminster  Castle,  in  some  inexplicable  way  con- 
stituted himself  as  her  fetch-and-carry  and  most  obedient 
creature. 

Now  it  was  he  who  passed  the  inspecting  hand  over  her 
saddle  and  looked  to  the  girths.  It  was  he  of  all  the  rest 
who,  as  Adrien  took  her  tiny  foot  to  help  her  to  the  sad- 
dle, recovered  the  handkerchief  which  she  dropped  from 
her  hand.  It  was  he  who  at  the  last  moment  adjusted 
the  bridle,  and  it  was  he  who  bowed  lowest  and  smiled 
sweetest  as  with  a  rear  and  a  clatter  of  polished  hoofs 
the  horses  started  off,  followed  by  Lady  Constance's  se- 
date groom. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

THE   BEAUTIFUL   SONGSTRESS. 

What  is  friendship  but  a  name, 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep, 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame 

And  leaves  the  watch  to  weep? 

GOLDSMITH. 

The  dinner  hour  at  the  castle  was  eight. 

At  five,  as  it  commenced  to  grow  dusk,  Adrien  and 
Lady  Constance  dashed  into  the  courtyard. 

The  groom,  well  mounted  as  he  was,  panted  a  mile 
away. 

Chi  Lady  Constance's  face  there  sat  a  smile  serene  and 
satisfied — a  smile  vivid  enough  to  show  her  pearly  teeth 
and  lend  a  gleam  of  color  to  her  cheeks. 

On  Adrien  Leroy's  there  lingered,  almost  brooded,  that 
air  of  languid  weariness  which  not  even  the  excitement 
of  a  gallop  with  so  beautiful  a  woman  as  his  companion 
could  banish. 

Leaping  from  his  saddle,  he  stood  bareheaded  at  her 
barb's  side,  and  with  a  turn  of  his  steely  muscles  swung 
her  to  the  ground. 

As  he  did  so,  her  acute  eyes  caught  the  faint  weariness 
and  the  smile  deepened — in  another  woman  whose  emo- 
tions were  less  in  check  it  would  have  vanished. 

"We  meet  you  at  dinner,"  she  said.  "Until  then  adieu." 

"Adieu!"  he  returned,  bowing  low. 

And  she  glided  into  the  hall  murmuring  inaudibly: 

"Does  he  love  me,  or  does  he  not?" 

Adrien  went  straight  to  his  apartments,  which  consisted 
of  a  magnificent  suite  provided  with  a  separate  and  pri- 
vate staircase,  and  a  detached  set  of  servants. 

09 


7O  Staunch  of  Heart. 

Norgate,  who  knew  how  to  interpret  each  varying 
shade  of  his  lord's  face,  just  glanced  at  it,  and  then  stole 
away  to  prepare  the  midday  bath. 

Adrien  Leroy,  with  all  his  strength,  great  powers  of  en- 
durance, and  nobility  of  manhood,  was  an  extreme  Sybar- 
ite. If  life  were  to  consist  of  one  long  rest  on  beds  of 
rose  leaves,  for  him  the  perfumed  couch  must  have  no 
creases.  He  was  thorough  even  in  his  luxuries ;  his  habits 
were  as  softly  planned  as  those  of  a  sultan ;  all  that  mod- 
ern art  could  do  to  elevate  luxury  to  a  perfected  science 
was  enlisted  on  his  behalf,  and  yet  the  world  of  fashion 
which  so  adored  him  never  applied  the  title  of  dandy  to 
him. 

He  was  something  more— a  man  so  earnest  that  even 
in  the  matter  of  doing  nothing  he  would,  as  Mortimer 
once  said,  "Do  it  well,  or  leave  it  undone." 

So  his  bath  was  prepared,  and  he  enjoyed  it,  after  which 
he  lay  wrapped  in  eiderdown  toilet  robes  smoking  from 
his  Eastern  nor  ghile.  Then,  when  the  shade  of  weari- 
ness had  given  place  to  a  serene  and  placid  gravity  Nor- 
gate was  summoned  and  the  regulation  evening  dress  was 
donned. 

At  eight  the  great  gong  sounded  through  every  cor- 
ridor of  the  immense  place.  Norgate  stood  with  the  din- 
ner carte  in  one  hand,  his  lord's  handkerchief  in  the  other. 

Adrien  glanced  at  the  carte  carelessly ;  then,  returning 
it,  prepared  to  descend. 

"Where  does  my  lord  the  baron  dine?'*  he  asked. 

"In  his  private  rooms,  sir,"  replied  Norgate. 

Dinner5  was  served  in  regal  magnificence  in  the  small 
Veronese  chamber,  as  it  was  called,  from  the  walls  being 
partially  covered  with  gems  by  that  great  master. 

Conversation  ran  principally  upon  the  race  of  the  mor- 
row, Lady  Constance  displaying  almost  a  mild  enthusiasm, 
and  confessing  that  she  had  backed  the  King  for  a  thou- 
sand pounds,  which,  she  added,  the  baron  had  given  her 
for  the  purpose. 

Adrien  looked  slightly  pleased.  Mr.  Vermont  smiled 
amiably. 

"What  a  business  man  would  call  a  good  investment, 
Lady  Tremaine.  The  King  is  safe  to  win.  Has  the  baron 
backed  him  heavily,  do  you  know?*' 


Staunch  of  Heart.  71 

"Yes,  but,  oh,  that's  a  secret!"  and  her  ladyship 
smiled.  "He  is  proud  of  the  horse,  you  know." 

Mr.  Jasper  smiled  still  more. 

"The  King  will  carry  more  than  his  own  weight  of  gold 
to-morrow,"  he  said,  then  glided  from  the  subject  to  an 
account  of  the  Countess  Eveline's  ball,  lending  it  an  in- 
terest derivable  entirely  from  the  piquant  style  of  the  nar- 
ration, and  with  a  thousand  artistic  touches  amusing  her 
ladyship  to  the  extent  of  an  encomium  on  his  powers  as 
a  reporter. 

"You  have  eyes  like  that  queer  insect,  Mr.  Vermont, 
in  the  back  of  your  head  surely ;  or  do  you  mount  on  in- 
visible wings  to  the  chandeliers,  and  take  a  bird's-eye 
view  ?" 

Mr.  Vermont  laughed. 

"Some  have  eyes  and  some  have  not,"  he  said,  showing 
his  even  teeth. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Lady  Constance,  turning  to  the 
duke,  who  had  preserved  a  regal  silence  during  the  prog- 
ress of  his  favorite  courses,  "Lady  Penelope  has  been 
besieging  the  baron  during  the  last  two  months  and  has, 
I  think,  nearly  carried  the  citadel?" 

"Ah !  and  what  is  the  motive  of  the  attack  ?"  said  the 
duke,  putting  down  the  fork,  and  deciding  to  lose  the  last 
morsel  for  beauty's  sake.  "Does  she  want  to  cut  down  the 
shrubbery;  lay  out  the  deer  park  into  a  Dutch  landscape 
garden,  or  a  body  of  artillery  to  fire  salutes  morning  and 
evening  from  the  battlements?" 

"As  they  did  for  six  weeks  against  the  Cropheads  in 
his  majesty's  time,"  said  Lady  Constance,  bowing  her 
head  slightly,  as  was  the  custom  with  all  the  Leroys  when 
the  Martyr's  name  was  spoken.  "No,  neither  of  those; 
but  Lady  Penelope  wants  a  bal  masque  in  the  great  salon. 
You  have  seen  it,  it  is  in  the  east  wing.  Adrien,  if  you 
would  add  your  word  we  should  get  it ;  won't  you  do  so?" 

Adrien  aroused  himself.  He  had  been  sitting  within 
a  few  feet  and  yet  not  heard  a  word. 

Lady  Constance  repeated  herself. 

"A  bal  masque  I1"  he  said,  dreamily.  "Yes,  an  excellent 
idea,  but  if  the  baron  has  refused  you  it  is  scarcely  likely 
that  he  will  yield  to  me.  Why  will  not  Park  House  do  for 


72  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

you,  Lady  Penelope?  I  hand  it  over  to  you  from  cellar  to 
garret  with  absolute  authority.  Nay,  more;  I  will  bind 
myself  your  faithful  slave  till  all  the  arrangements  are 
made." 

Lady  Penelope  laughed. 

"No,  Park  House  is  too  modern,  and,  excuse  me,  too 
common.  Princely  cavaliers  and  royalists  would  be  out  of 
place  within  walls  that  had  never  inclosed  anything  more 
romantic  than  the  modern  sable  costumes.  Here  in  Bar- 
minster  Castle  the  scene  would  be  but  a  resurrection — a 
reflection  of  the  reality.  Remember  that  kings  and  princes 
of  the  blood  have  trod  the  boards  of  the  salon  times  with- 
out number,  and  that  these  walls  are  to  the  manner  born 
of  all  that  is  romantic  and  noble.  No;  here  in  the  grand 
salon,  or  nowhere !" 

Adrien  bowed. 

"So  be  it,"  he  said ;  "I  will  do  my  best.  If  the  baron 
be  inexorable  I'll  treasure  up  your  words,  and  slay  his 
obstinacy  with  their  eloquence." 

Lady  Penelope  arose. 

"Not  mine,"  she  said,  smiling  at  her  beautiful  niece, 
"but  Constance's.  I  but  repeated  word  for  word  her  on- 
slaught on  the  baron." 

Adrien  opened  the  door  for  them  to  pass  out,  and  re- 
turned to  his  seat  with  something  like  a  sigh.  None  no- 
ticed it  save  Jasper  Vermont,  and  he,  while  he  mused, 
"What  is  on  him  now,  I  wonder?"  he  said,  gayly: 

"Come,  Adrien,  this  Burgundy  has  passed  you  twice. 
Such  wine,  too.  Ah,  when  this  has  gone  and  its  like, 
what  will  become  of  us?  Away  with  Nineveh,  down  with 
dynasties,  but  save  us  these  old  nectars,  and  fate  may  do 
what  it  pleases." 

Adrien  smiled. 

"Jasper,  you  are  a  butterfly,"  he  said. 

"And  what  is  better?"  retorted  the  wit.  "Is  life  worth 
having  when  the  flowers  are  gone?  Who  would  desire 
more?  Beauty  on  the  wings,  ambrosial  essence  on  the 
palate,  and — puff! — forgetfulness,  sleep  when  the  sum- 
mer has  gone.  Never  despise  the  butterflies,  but  if  you 
have  more  scorn  than  you  can  conveniently  carry  give 
it  to  the  bee  and  the  ant,  than  whom  the  world  holds  no 


Staunch  of  Heart.  73 

greater  fools.  Fill  me  again,  sirrah.  Now,  listen,  here  is 
the  last  piece  of  scandal,  duke,"  and  he  leaned  over  with 
a  slight  glitter  in  his  small  eyes.  "You  all  know  Mont- 
garret — poor  old  ant — how  many  thousands  has  he  car- 
ried away  from  his  deep,  dark  mines,  to  and  fro,  like  the 
indefatigable  miserable  insect  he  is!  Lady  Montgarret, 
the  fair  flower  of  the  day,  how  beautiful,  how  serene. 
What  a  partner  to  rejoice  the  heart  of  our  amiable  mole. 
He  marries  her !  Poor  ant !  On  the  wings  of  the  summer 
breeze  comes  the  despised  butterfly,  little  Gerald  Fitzroy. 
Presto !  he  spies  the  poor  ant's  flower,  covets,  and — presto ! 
robs  the  wiser  insect  of  its  treasure.  Now  mark  you  the 
contrast  between  folly  and  wisdom.  The  ant — that  Solo- 
mon of  industry — takes  the  loss  of  his  flower  to  heart  and 
dies  of  a  rupture  of  that  eccentric  organ.  The  butterfly — 
whom  you  despise,  my  dear  Adrien — sips  the  nectar  from 
his  ill-gotten  flower  till  the  taste  palls,  then  flies  to  fresh 
fields  and  pastures  new !" 

Soft  and  pleasing  as  was  the  voice,  poetically  rendered 
as  was  the  fable,  the  listeners  could  not  suppress  a  shud- 
der. 

All  save  Adrien,  who  with  a  grim  sternness,  said,  as  he 
arose : 

"Change  your  types,  Jasper,  from  butterfly  to  snake, 
and  from  ant  to  man,  and  give  us  another  sequel.  Who 
sucked  the  nectar  from  flower  of  mine  should  find  death  at 
the  bottom  of  his  draught." 

Jasper  laughed  silently. 

"Ah,  how  brave !  What  energy,  what  courage  is  wasted 
in  these  modern  times.  You  should  have  lived  in  the  age 
of  that  noble  ancestor  of  yours  who  stands  in  the  hall — 
or  his  armor  at  least — sword  in  hand,  always  ready  for  a 
blow.  Ha !  ha !  By  the  way,  marquis,  Pomf rey  can  tell 
you  a  good  story  anent  faithless  wives.  What  is  it, 
Pomf  rey?" 

"Oh,"  said  the  author,  laughing,  "that  little  girl  Lord 
Noblechild  married,  ran  away  with  Charlie  Jukes  of  the 
Guards.  When  his  lordship  heard  it  he  sent  her  lady- 
ship's wardrobe  and  jewels  after  them,  with  his  compli- 
ments to  Mr.  Jukes,  and  her  ladyship  would  ruin  him, 
fast  enough  even  with  the  stock  in  hand." 


74  Staunch  of  Heart. 

This  characteristic  anecdote  meeting  with  the  proper 
amount  of  laughter,  the  gentlemen  adjourned  to  the  silver 
drawing-room. 

This  one  of  the  half-dozen  small  salons  in  Barminster 
Castle  was  decorated  a  la  Watteau,  but  exclusively  in  blue 
and  silver. 

Lady  Constance's  dress  to  match  was  of  the  faintest 
tint  of  azure  with  Etruscan  silver  ornaments  sparkling  in 
its  rich  folds.  Blue  suited  her  shell-like  complexion, 
and  to-night  she  looked  her  best. 

Adrien  had  a  passion  for  music,  and  possessed  a  splen- 
did mellow  voice,  which  not  one  out  of  a  hundred  of  his 
friends  had  ever  heard  in  melody.  He  was  a  master  of 
*he  piano  and  guitar,  but  save  in  the  hours  of  solitude 
touched  neither. 

To-night  he  sank  into  one  of  the  dainty  satin  lounges 
and  gave  himself  up  to  supreme  indolence. 

The  talk  went  on  around  him.  Mr.  Jasper's  voice,  soft 
and  silky,  with  a  general  laugh,  following  its  close,  Lady 
Constance's,  mellow  and  patrician,  the  duke's  rolling  and 
full  of  abrupt  turns,  lulled  him  into  perfect  rest,  from 
which  he  aroused  himself  to  beg  a  song  from  Lady  Con- 
stance. 

"Yes,  and  you  shall  choose." 

Adrien  arose  and  turned  the  music. 

"Sing  what  you  please,"  he  said,  "or  this  old  ballad." 

"Why?"  she  said.    "Do  you  like  it?    It  is  sp  sad." 

"What  is  it  called  ?"  asked  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont,  gliding 
to  the  piano. 

"'False  Friends/"  replied  Lady  Constance. 

"Pray  let  us  have  that,"  returned  Mr.  Jasper,  amiably. 

And  Lady  Constance  seated  herself  at  the  instrument. 

Mr.  Jasper  declared  he  was  devoted  to  music,  and  no 
doubt  he  was,  to  judge  from  the  enthusiastic  applause 
with  which  he  received  the  last  notes. 

"So  sweet,  so  plaintive.  And  so  true ;  the  words  are  as 
good  as  the  music.  Let  me  see,  what  is  the  last  verse? 

"  'Bitter  as  the  snow  in  June, 

More  bitter  than  all  things  else, 
To  find,  more  changeful  than  the  moon, 

Yonr  bosom  friend  so  false.'  " 


Staunch  of  Heart.  75 

s 

Then,  surrounded  by  admiers,  the  beautiful  songstress 
sang  again,  song  after  song. 

Mr.  Jasper  sat  a  little  apart,  gazing  through  a  gap  in  the 
curtains  at  that  moon  which  had  been  so  convenient  as  a 
subject  of  comparison  to  the  false  friend,  and  listening 
with  all  his  ears.  Sometimes  he  turned  his  sleek  face  and 
looked  long  and  with  drooped  eyelids  at  the  exquisite  pro- 
file of  the  singer.  At  the  end  of  each  long,  curious  glance 
his  eyes  would  drop  on  the  full-length  figure  of  Adrien 
Leroy,  his  friend,  stretched  in  graceful,  languid  repose. 
Then  he  would  return  to  the  contemplation  of  the  moon 
with  an  expression  on  his  face  worthy  of  the  Sphinx. 

At  last  Lady  Constance  would  sing  no  more,  and  sud- 
denly turned  off  the  attack  upon  Adrien. 

"Will  you  not  sing  one  for  us,  only  a  little  one?  Do 
not  be  ungracious." 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  arose  with  that  old 
gesture  as  if  dashing  off  his  weariness  with  a  shake  of  the 
whole  frame  and  seated  himself.  For  a  few  minutes  his 
long  white  hands  strayed  over  the  piano  dreamily,  then 
in  a  voice  whose  richness  seized  upon  the  heart  with  mar- 
velous power,  sang  two  short  verses. 

"A  boy  sat  in  an  orchard  sweet, 

The  moon  wrapped  night  in  light, 
But  from  his  aching,  searching  feet 

Love  took  flight. 

"A  man  sought  all  the  world  afar 
In  darkness  and  the  hot  sun's  light; 

But  never  nearer  hope 's  bright  star. 
Love  took  flight." 

In  the  pause  of  silence  which  reigned  between  the  two 
last  words  and  the  amazed  applause,  Mr.  Jasper  stood  be- 
hind the  curtains,  opened  the  window  and  slid  out  on  the 
terrace. 

There  he  fell  against  the  heavy  stone  balustrade  as  if 
he  were  fainting;  tugging  at  his  immaculate  neckcloth, 
his  pale,  flaccid  face  turned  up  to  the  moon. 

"Heaven !  I  can't  endure  it !"  he  breathed.  "His  beauty 
kills  me !  The  sweetness  of  his  voice  maddens  me !  Con- 
found him,  how  I  hate  him  1" 


76  Staunch  of  Heart. 

Mr.  Jasper  was  too  indisposed,  he  explained  the  next 
morning  at  breakfast,  to  re-enter  and  say  good-night.  But 
he  was  not  too  indisposed  to  steal  from  his  room,  glide 
noiselessly  down  the  grand  staircase,  and  drop  lightly  as 
a  feather  from  a  casement  on  to  the  terrace,  and  thence 
set  off  at  a  hard  pace  through  the  plantations. 

At  the  end  of  these  stood  a  little  'cottage,  attached  to 
the  straw-yard,  set  apart  for  any  of  the  sick  cattle. 

At  the  door  of  this  cottage  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  listened 
attentively,  then,  without  word  of  warning,  lifted  the  latch 
and  entered. 

A  dim  light  flickered  from  a  stable  candlestick,  and  by 
that  Mr.  Jasper  made  his  way  to  a  Corner  of  the  room, 
where  upon  a  small. bedstead  lay  what  looked  like  a  mis- 
shapen lad. 

On  touching  this  with  his  foot  Mr.  Jasper  elicited  a 
growl,  and  by  means  of  another  kick  succeeded  in  arous- 
ing Mr.  Peacock,  the  jockey,  from  his  virtuous  slumber. 

The  little  monkey  face  crinkled  in  true  imp  fashion  as 
the  bleared  eyes  saw  who  the  midnight  visitor  was,  and 
the  voice  which  had  so  huskily  responded  to  Adrien  in, 
the  morning  more  huskily  now  said: 

"Well?" 

"Short  and  polite ;  wake  up !"  retorted  Mr.  Jasper,  kick- 
ing him  again.  "Did  I  not  tell  you  I  should  be  here  at 
twelve,  eh,  you  imp  of  darkness  ?" 

"You  did,  guv'nor,"  sullenly  replied  Mr.  Peacock. 

"Well,  and  here  I  am.  You're  not  drunk,  are  you? 
Here,  show  me  your  face,"  and  with  a  cruel  grin  the  soft 
and  amiable  Mr.  Jasper  seized  the  shrunken  cheek  of  the 
dwarfed  jockey  and  dragged  him  by  the  novel  handle  like 
a  log  of  wood  to  the  light.  "No,  not  drunk,  but  a  gooc? 
way  on.  Now  then ;  you're  sober  enough  to  know  what 
I  say,  and  what  I  mean.  You  know  what  you've  got  to 
do  to-morrow,  eh  ?" 

The  creature  nodded  sulkily. 

"Tighten  and  choke  him  off  at  the  last  hurdle.  That's 
it ;  and  mind  you  do  it  neatly,  too — no  clumsy  journeyman 
work,  but  clean  and  offhand.  You  can  do  it,  you  know ; 
it  won't  be  the  first  little  affair  you've  sold,  eh  ?  You  sold 
one  too  many  though,  didn't  you  ?  and  you  know  what  I'll 
do  if  you  don't  work  this  as  it  should  be  done,  don't  you?" 


Staunch  of  Heart.  77 

The  man  nodded  again. 

"All  right,  guv'nor,"  he  muttered.  "Don't  cut  up  rough. 
Everything's  square,  ain't  it  ?" 

"I  hope  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  eyeing  him,  "or  you'll 
be  picking  oakum,  or  whatever  legal  employment  is  the 
fashion  at  Millbank  before  to-morrow  night.  What's  the 
matter  with  you?"  he  asked,  still  scrutinizing  the  fellow 
by  the  same  means,  namely,  the  skin  of  his  cheek.  "You 
look  all  over  the  sea;  what's  the  matter,  eh?"  and  he 
tightened  his  grasp. 

The  man  looked  down,  then  up  at  the  cruel  face  of  his 
tormentor. 

"I've  seen  him,  guv'nor,"  he  said,  huskily. 

"Him !  Whom,  you  idiot  ?"  rejoined  Mr.  Jasper. 

"Him  as  we're  to  sell,"  replied  the  man,  blinking  re- 
morsefully at  the  candle,  and  apparently  indifferent  to  the 
agony  which  Mr.  Jasper  was  so  playfully  inflicting  with 
his  fat,  cruel  fingers. 

"Oh,  and  what  if  you  have,  you  gallows-bird ;  what  if 
you  have  ?" 

"He  give  me  a  tenpun'  note,"  said  the  man  as  if  to  him- 
self. "And  he  spoke  clear  and  soft-like — clear  and  soft, 
kindly-like."  Then  suddenly  wrenching  his  cheek  from 
Mr.  Jasper's  grasp  he  turned  his  bleared  eyes  on  him  sav- 
agely. "Leave  go  my  cheek,  will  yer?  It's  a  darned 
shame  to  sell  him,  and  I  won't." 

Mr.  Jasper  raised  his  little  fat  hand  and  knocked  the 
diminutive  form  to  the  ground  as  a  butcher  fells  an  ox, 
then,  springing  on  to  his  chest,  raised  his  fist  again. 

The  jockey  put  up  his  hands  imploringly,  and  ground 
out  from  his  parched  throat : 

"Guv'nor,  guv'nor,  what  are  you  goin'  to  do?" 

"Kill  you,  you  cur!"  snapped  Mr.  Jasper.  "Do  you 
think  I'd  let  you  live  till  the  morning  to  split?  Ha!  ha!w 

The  fist  poised  itself  in  the  air.    The  jockey  winced. 

"Stop,  stop  r  he  croaked   "111  do  it  I" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   RACE. 

Now  neck  to  neck,  with  veined  nostrils  opt, 
The  panting  racers  swiftly  cope; 
While  shouts  of  warning,  rage  and  prayer 
Prom  eager  throats  make  thick  the  air, 
Till  the  full  length  of  course  is  run, 
And  swiftest  feet  the  race  have  won. 

The  morning  of  the  race  shone  bright,  sharp  and  clear. 
The  Leroy  course  glittered  through  the  dewdrops  like  a 
thing  of  fatal  beauty. 

With  the  dawn  streams  of  pedestrians  had  tramped 
through  the  quiet  villages  to  the  gathering  place.  Later 
on  strings  of  carriages  beat  up  the  dust  of  the  hard  roads. 

In  driblets  of  two  and  three  the  late  horses  arrived, 
swaddled  in  clothes  like  dainty  plants  or  fractious  chil- 
dren. Bowlegged  grooms  and  diminutive  jockeys  made 
the  air  reek  with  odors  of  the  stable,  and  the  ear  painful 
with  coarse  oaths  and  vulgar,  horsy  slang. 

Still  later  on  came  the  mob  of  turfites  and  bookmakers, 
all  with  that  hungry,  red-nosed  look  which  distinguishes 
the  professed  layers  of  odds. 

Then  came  an  army  of  carpenters,  who,  with  practiced 
facility  and  rapidity  literally  ran  up  the  grand  stand,  and 
covered  it  with  its  dainty  Crimson  cloth  and  Leroy  stream- 
ers. 

Toward  noon,  the  hour  al;  which  the  chasers  were  to 
leave  the  starting  post,  the  crowd  grew  denser,  the  oaths 
thicker,  and  the  snouts  of  "Two  to  one  on  King  Cole," 
"Four  to  three  on  Rosicrucian,"  "Six  to  one  on  the  favor- 
ite against  the  field,"  were  hoarse  and  turbulent. 

Twelve  o'clock  struck  from  the  castle  stable's  clock,  and 
still  no  appearance  of  the  "swells,"  as  the  lower  orders  de- 
light in  denominating  the  higher. 

"Your  swells  are  always  late,"  said  a  thick  lipped  turf- 
ite, biting  his  stubby  pencil  prior  to  booking  a  favorable 
bet.  "They  plays  to  carry  it  high.  It  ain't  their  style  to  be 

78 


Staunch  of  Heart.  79 

punctual.  That's  left  for  such  poor  chaps  as  us.  Two  to 
one  on  King  Cole !  Hello !  what's  that  weedy  animal  goin' 
in  for?" 

The  remark  was  echoed  by  several,  as  a  dark  chestnut, 
thin  in  the  flank  and  badly  groomed,  made  its  appearance 
among  the  high-bred  occupants  of  the  paddock. 

A  little,  dirty-faced,  closely-shaven  Yorkshireman  had 
her  in  charge,  and  he  looked  as  nonchalant  and  self-satis- 
fied as  if  he  held  the  bridle  of  King  Cole  himself. 

Presently,  while  the  crowd  push  around  the  sacred  in- 
closure,  a  light,  soft  footfall  sounds  on  the  turf,  and  Mr. 
Jasper  Vermont,  the  first  of  the  "swells,"  leaps  over  the 
railing. 

Presumably  he  has  come  to  cast  a  glance  at  the  favorite, 
but  as  he  passes  the  Yorkshireman  with  the  weedy  chest- 
nut he  says,  behind  a  sheltering  cough : 

"That  will  do.  Take  him  off.  The  plant's  safe  without 
him/' 

Three  minutes  later  a  laugh  of  derision  arose  as  the  an- 
nouncement is  made  that  the  rough-skinned  chestnut  is 
"scratched." 

"Quite  time,  too !  Who's  his  owner?" 

But  nobody  knows,  and  nobody  cares,  for  at  that  mo- 
ment a  gay  and  handsome  cavalcade  dash  up. 

There  are  two  carriages,  one  with  the  ladies  and 
another  with  the  grim  baron,  who  detests  a  crowd  even 
when  it  is  patrician,  and  prefers  seeing  the  race  from  his 
carriage  to  mounting  the  grand  stand. 

But  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  is  Adrien  Leroy,  the  owner 
of  the  favorite. 

Handsome  as  ever,  he  looks  this  morning  as  indifferent 
as  ever,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  more  weary. 

The  King  turns  his  head  with  a  whinny  that  is  all  but  a 
supplication.  Alast  his  master  does  not  understand  the 
equine  language,  and  the  note  of  warning  is  lost  upon  him. 

"Beautiful  as  a  daisy,"  says  Mr.  Jasper,  passing  his 
hand  admiringly  over  the  satin  neck. 

"Top  thin  in  the  legs,"  murmurs  the  Yorkshireman. 

Adrien  turns  leisurely. 

"Too  thin,  you  think,  my  man?  111  lay  twenty  to  one 
upon  them." 


So  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Done,  sir"  said  the  man,  sharply.  "For  pounds  or 
hundreds  ?" 

"Hundreds,"  said  Adrjen. 

Mr.  Jasper  touched  him  on  the  arm,  and  whispered, 
gravely: 

"Rather  hasty !  Plenty  of  money  upon  him  BOW,  don't 
you  think?" 

Adrien  smiled  rather  haughtily. 

"Hundreds  it  shall  be,"  he  said,  and  turned. 

The  Yorkshireman  touches  his  hat  to  Mr.  Jasper  as  to 
a  perfect  stranger,  and  the  two  gentlemen  pass  to  the 
weighing-seat. 

"Where  is  Peacock?"  asked  Adrien. 

"Oh,  inside,  peeling,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  carelessly.  "He's 
all  right ;  I  have  just  been  speaking  to  him." 

Adrien  passed  on  and  approached  the  first  carriage  and 
leaned  on  its  window  ledge  to  shake  hands  with  the 
Marchioness  of  Calne  and  her  sister,  the  latter  a  young 
lady  with  two  special  objects  of  regard — Lord  Byron  and 
the  gentleman  now  pressing  her  small  palm. 

"And  so  your  horse,  that  pretty  creature  with  the  long 
neck,  is  going  to  win,"  said  the  marchioness. 

"We  hope  so,"  replied  Adrien. 

"Oh,  Lady  Constance  said  it  would  win  for  certain," 
exclaimed  Lady  Alicia,  blushing  at  her  own  temerity. 

"Oh,  nothing  is  certain  save  death  and  the  Three  per 
Cents,"  said  Adrien,  turning  the  grave  regard  of  his  dark 
eyes  upon  her.  "Race,  horses  are  fickle  as  ladies,  Lady 
Alicia ;  both  arc  utterly  untrustworthy.  But  I  think  you 
may  bet  on  the  King ;  he's  in  fine  form.  Are  you  going 

to  the  stand? Ah,  here  is  Jasper !"  as  that  gentleman 

sauntered  up.  "He's  your  beau  cavalier,  I  suppose,  Con- 
stance." 

And  as  Jasper  held  his  arm  for  the  ladies,  Adrien  raised 
his  hat  and  transferred  his  attentions  to  the  baron,  whose 
carriage  was  about  to  take  up  position. 

The  baron  raised  his  hat  in  response  to  his  son's  un- 
covering. 

"Well,  sir,  why  are  they  not  started  ?  Have  these  rac- 
ing fellows  ceased  to  be  punctual  as  well  as  honest?" 

"There  rings  the  bell,  my  lord/'  said  Adrien.  "Can  you 
see  here?" 


Staunch  of  Heart.  81 

"Yes!"  replied  the  baron.    "Is  the  horse  fit?" 

"Admirably,"  said  Adrien.  "It  is  a  certain  thing  I 
think.  I  must  go  and  take  my  place.  The  duke  acts  as 
umpire.  There  is  likely  to  be  a  crush  at  the  fence,  sir ; 
you  will  enjoy  that." 

The  baron  uttered  something  in  reply  half  contemptuous 
of  all  things,  earthly  or  heavenly,  and  Adrien  made  his 
way  to  the  stand. 

The  marquis,  Pomfrey,  Ireton,  and  the  rest  of  the  castle 
guests  had  arranged  the  ladies,  who  were  glittering  like 
doves  in  their  seal  and  beaver  furs,  and  eagerly  learning 
which  horse  was  which  and  to  whom  it  belonged. 

Harsh  cries  from  the  betting  ring  still  ascended  at  in- 
tervals, though  the  majority  of  the  crowd  were  still  with 
anticipative  excitement. 

Adrien  made  his  way  to  the  seat  reserved  for  him  beside 
Lady  Constance  and  leisurely  unstrapped  his  field  glass. 
Then  he  handed  it  to  her  ladyship. 

"Can  you  see  with  this?" 

She  tried  it. 

"Beautifully.  What  an  excitement  they  seem  to  be  in !" 
she  said,  looking  down  upon  the  seething  crowd. 

He  smiled.  Beyond  a  hope  that  his  well-beloved  horse 
would  get  fresh  laurels  for  itself  the  affair  had  no  interest 
for  him.  To  the  fearful  amount  he  had  risked  he  never 
gave  a  thought 

And  now,  amid  a  sharp  cry  of  excitement,  they  were  off, 
Rpsicrucian  leading,  Bluebell  running  close  on  to  her,  the 
King  striding  leisurely  along,  and  a  little  compact  posse 
pushing  on  its  flanks. 

"There  goes  the  King !"  exclaimed  Lady  Alicia.  "Oh 
I  do  hope  it  will  win,  don't  you,  Mr.  Vermont?" 

Mr.  Jasper  smiled. 

"I  do  indeed,"  he  said,  and  his  little  steely  eyes  rested 
upon  the  shriveled  figure  of  Peacock,  the  jockey,  with 
keen  scrutiny. 

Meanwhile  away  they  went,  Rosicrucian  still  leading, 
Bluebell  falling  away,  and  the  King  creeping  up  easily  to 
the  second  place. 

The  first  hurdle  was  hopped  over  feath'erly,  the  next,  a 
tough  piece  of  obstinate  thorn,  threw  Bluebell  back.  The 


82  Staunch  of  Heart. 

King  cleared  it  in  his  stride  and  threw  a  speck  of  white 
foam  on  the  haunches  of  the  Rosicrucian,  still  leading. 

Adrien  nodded  approvingly. 

"That  fellow  knows  how  to  ride,"  he  said.  "If  he  keeps 
the  King  like  that  the  race  is  ours." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Jasper,  "he  understands  him.  You  will 
see  how  nicely  he  keeps  him  cool  till  the  spurt  comes." 

"Which  will  be  at  the  last  hurdle,"  said  the  marquis. 

"Exactly,"  said  Jasper,  pleasantly. 

Hedge  after  hedge  was  cleared  and  still  the  Rosicrucian 
was  leading ;  but  it  was  evident  to  all  that  the  high  blood 
of  the  King  was  burning  to  get  away,  and  that  its  jockey 
was  playing  a  waiting  game. 

Bluebell  struggled  on  to  the  stream,  but  there,  unen- 
couraged  by  the  way  in  which  the  two  leaders  had  cleared 
it,  she  refused  and  deposited  her  jockey  for  a  cooler. 

A  laugh  arose  in  the  midst  of  the  excitement,  but  it  was 
speedily  drowned  by  frantic  shouts  of :  "Now  she  has  it !" 
"He's  let  him  go !"  "The  King  wins !"  "No,  the  Rosi- 
crucian!" "No,  the  King!"  "The  King's  got  away!" 

And  so  he  had,  for  Peacock  had  deemed  it  expedient  to 
put  the  spurt  on  already,  and  the  noble  King,  with  a  toss 
of  his  veined  nostrils,  had  darted  ahead.  Then  they 
raced  across  the  level  flat,  cheered  and  shrieked  at  by  the 
frantic  crowd. 

The  aristocrats  on  the  grand  stand  felt  their  blood  rise. 
Ladies  raised  themselves  on  their  hands  and  peered 
forward. 

Like  lightning  the  two  noble  creatures  neared  the  last 
obstacle,  a  great  hulking,  grim-faced  hedge,  like  a  moun- 
tain. 

Neck  and  neck  they  seemed  to  go  at  it,  as  if  they  meant 
to  swallow  it. 

But  suddenly  the  King  darted  forward,  and  amid  a  ter- 
rific roar  of  astonishment  took  the  leap  too  short,  fell  side- 
ways, and  pitched  his  jockey  like  a  bolster  a  dozen  feet 
away. 

Rosicrucian  rose  for  the  leap,  cleared  it,  and  seeing 
nothing  behind,  cantered  in. 

A  dense  roar  of  surprise,  dismay,  rage,  disappointment, 
and  a  mingling  of  satisfaction,  and  the  crowd,  breaking  all 


Staunch  of  Heart,  83 

bounds,  pressed  forward  to  the  spot  to  which  the  starter 
and  officials  were  already  hastening. 

A  murmer  of  astonishment  and  disappointment  ran 
through  the  grand  stand,  and  all  eyes  were  turned  to 
Adrien.  But  he  seemed  the  least  concerned  of  all,  as, 
shutting  his  field  glass,  he  said : 

"Rosicrucian  ran  finely!  I  can't  understand  the  King 
hurrying  that  last  hurdle.  Jasper,  let  us  go  and  see  if  the 
fellow  is  hurt." 

With  Mr.  Jasper  at  his  heels  he  strode  down  the  stand, 
and  hurried  across  the  course. 

The  course  hushed  its  clatter,  and  made  way  for  the 
owner  of  the  loser  to  pass  through  it. 

In  its  center  two  men — the  duke  and  the  starter — were 
kneeling  over  the  little  heap  of  leather  and  silk.  The  duke 
looked  up  as  Adrien  approached,  and  shook  his  head. 

Adrien  bent  over  the  shriveled  face  feelingly. 

"Has  a  doctor  been  sent  for?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  the  duke,  gravely.  "But  I  think  he  will  be 
too  late — his  spine " 

At  that  moment  the  heavy  eyelids  raised  themselves  and 
the  blood-stained  lips  trembled. 

"He  is  speaking,"  said  the  duke. 

The  starter  knelt  down. 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  the  jockey,  "where  is  he?  I  want 
to  see  him?" 

"Whom  ?"  asked  the  duke,  "whom  do  you  want  to  see, 
my  good  fellow?" 

"Perhaps  it's  me,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  coming  forward 
with  kindly  sympathy.  "I  know  him.  Perhaps  he  wants 
to  explain " 

At  the  sound  of  his  soft  voice  the  jockey  raised  his  head 
and  glared  at  him,  then  his  glance  fell  upon  Adrien,  and, 
With  a  sudden  light  upon  his  face,  he  stretched  out  his 
hand. 

"Him !  him !  the  swell !  I  want  to  tell  him — the  race — 
the  horse — sold !  Him — villian ! — the  horse !" 

Gasping  out  these  disjointed  words,  he  glared  first  at 
Jasper,  then  at  Adrien,  struggled  to  convey  some  warning 
or  explanation,  but  in  vain. 

With  the  last  words  he  fell  back. 


§4  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

"He  has  fainted !"  exclaimed  the  duke. 

"Allow  me,"  said  a  gentleman — the  doctor — pushing 
forward,  %nd  dropping  on  his  knee. 

"Fainted  ?    No,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  he's  dead." 

"Dead !  dear  me !"  said  Mr.  Jasper;  and  one  might  have 
fancied,  but  for  the  inhumanity  and  injustice  of  the  idea, 
that  there  was  a  certain  tone  of  satisfaction  mingled  with 
the  extremely  sympathetic  ejaculation. 


CHAPTER  X. 
"INCAPABLE  OF  LOVE." 

The  keenest  pangs  the   wretched  find 

Are  rapture  to   the   dreary  void, 
The  leafless  desert  of  the  mind, 

The  waste  of  feelings  unemployed.  BTCON. 

At  night,  when  the  great  course  is  deserted  and  silent, 
when  the  noisy  crowd  has  tramped  back  to  London,  and 
the  crooked  form  of  the  dead  jockey  lies  covered  over 
with  the  white  sheet,  in  the  stable  house,  the  silver  draw- 
ing-room is  full  of  light  and  beauty. 

The  guests  have  dined,  the  gentlemen  have  followed  the 
ladies,  and  music  played  by  dainty  hands  and  trilled  by 
fair  throats  is  making  digestion  a  luxury. 

Lady  Alicia,  watching  her  new  friend  behind  the  wings 
of  her  sister,  thinks  him  handsomer  than  ever  by  the  mel- 
low candlelight,  and  whispers  so  to  the  marchioness. 

There  is  a  little  gravity  upon  his  white  forehead. 

"IJe  is  thinking  of  the  poor  jockey,"  suggests  the  girl. 

The  marchioness  smiles. 

"Perhaps  so.  He  is  always  gentle  and  compassionate, 
though  men  say  otherwise,"  replies  the  marchioness. 

But  if  he  be,  he  is  the  only  one  there  so  hampered. ' 

On  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont's  brow  plays  a  sweeter  smile 
than  usual,  and  with  the  rest  time  swims  by  too  pleasantly 
to  allow  of  unpleasant  reflection  anent  a  dead  steeple- 
chaser. 

"One  thing  is  certain,"  said  the  marquis  to  Lady  Con- 
stance, who  had  been  sighing  over  the  defeat.  "He  will 
not  allow  any  one  to  ride  the  King  again  but  himself.  I 
heard  him  say  so." 

Lady  Constance  smiled,  and  sighed : 

"Mr.  Adrien  has  lost  heavily?" 

85 


£6  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Immensely,  I  should  think.  More  than  he  knows,  but 
certainly  less  than  he  cares.  He  thinks  nothing  of  the 
stakes  so  that  he  has  the  excitement.  They  are  the  mere 
makeweights,  the  necessary  formula  for  the  proper  con- 
duct of  the  game.  Oh,  yes,  he  must  have  lost  heavily. 
Here  is  Mr.  Vermont,  he  could  tell  us,  I  dare  say." 

Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  afraid  to  say  how  much,"  he  said.  "But  Adrien 
has  himself  to  thank.  You  have  heard,  I  suppose?  He 
gave  the  fellow  a  ten-pound  note  last  night,  with  which, 
like  such  creatures,  he  got  deplorably  intoxicated.  Con- 
sequences: an  unsteady  hand  this  morning,  a  hasty  push 
at  the  last  rise,  and  a  clear  loss  of  the  race,  not  to  mention 
the  fabulous  sum  in  bets.  All  Adrien's  own  fault !  If  he 
will  be  so  recklessly  generous,  what  is  to  be  done  ?" 

The  marquis  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Just  like  Adrien,"  he  said,  and  moved  off  to  repeat 
Mr.  Jaspers  story,  which  of  course  accounted  for  every- 
thing, and  lent  an  extra  interest  to  the  event  of  the  day. 

Oh,  yes,  it  was  his  own  fault,  no  doubt.  If  he  had  kept 
the  ten  pounds  in  his  pocket  the  jockey  would  not  have 
drunk  himself  incapable,  and  the  race  would  have  been 
the  King's. 

To  both  causes  and  results  the  principal  participator  in 
the  latter  seemed  as  unconscious  as  the  dead  jocky  him- 
self. On  his  easy  lounge  he  reclined,  listening  and  talking 
with  the  old  reposeful  smile,  as  if  the  race  wiere  a  thing 
of  a  decade  ago. 

Tonight  he  would  not  sing,  there  were  too  many  to 
applaude ;  but  he  arose  twice  to  conduct  Lady  Constance  to 
the  instrument,  and  stayed  by  her  side  during  the  song  to 
turn  the  leaves  of  her  music. 

The  lookers-on,  the  ladies  in  especial,  whispered  behind 
their  fans  that  the  match  was  settled,  and  sighed  with 
envy  of  the  beautiful  Constance's  bliss  in  perspective. 

But  toward  midnight  the  monarch  of  fashion  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  even  his  beautiful  kinswoman,  and  when 
the  fair  faces  and  bright  laughter  had  vanished  from  the 
room,  and  the  men  had  sauntered  up  to  the  grand  divan 
for  a  before-th'e-bed  cigar  and  some  Badminton,  the  weary 
look  had  settled  like  a  cloud  on  his  lips,  and  he  lay  with 


Staunch  of  Heart.  87 

closed  eyes,  wrapped  in  the  incense  of  his  narghile,  like  a 
sultan  asleep. 

The  duke  reclined  near  him.  The  remainder  were  dis- 
posed in  every  imaginable  attitude  on  the  broad  velvet 
lounges,  Mr.  Jasper  among  them,  smoking  an  enormous 
regalia,  and  provoking  a  laugh  with  some  delicate  but 
sharp-pointed  wit. 

"Asleep,  Adrien?"  asked  the  duke,  laying  his  strong- 
hand  upon  his  bosom  friend's  shoulder. 

"No,"  said  Adrien ;  "wide  awake  and  musing." 

"What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  Counting  up  the  losses  ?" 
asked  the  duke,  with  a  short  laugh. 

Adrien  smiled. 

"No,  I  leave  that  for  Jasper,  who  is  the  multiplication 
table  with  legs.  I'm  sorry  you  fellows  were  let  in.  I 
cannot  understand  it;  but  yet  I  suppose  I  should.  My 
fault,  says  Jasper,  and  I  bow  to  his  decision;  and  yet  I 
saw  the  man  as  he  galloped  past,  and  I  saw  no  sign  of 
anything  wrong  on  his  face." 

"Nor  I,"  put  in  Mr.  Jasper.  "I  was  in  the  weighing 
tent  and  saw  him  scaled.  All  right  then.  He  was  always 
white  and  seedy-looking.  I  saw  nothing  wrong." 

"Nor  I,"  echoed  the  others. 

Adrien  puffed  out  a  fresh  cloud  of  perfumed  smoke. 

"The  losses  are  heavy,  I  imagine,  and  yet  I  would 
rather  they  were  double,  ay,  trebled,  than  that  the  poor 
fellow  should  lose  his  life  from  a  horse  of  mine." 

There  was  a  quiet  gravity  in  the  deep-toned  voice  that 
spoke  of  regret  for  which  the  light  hearts  around  him 
would  scarcely  have  given  him  credit. 

"His  own  fault ;  it  was  suicide !  He  put  the  King  to  it 
too  soon  by  half  a  minute,"  said  the  Marquis,  angrily. 
"The  horse  was  not  to  blame ;  he  would  have  taken  the 
hedge  and  another  one  on  top  of  it  but  for  that  unlucky 
spurt." 

"I  believe  it,"  said  Adrien,  rising.  "No  one  shall  ride 
the  King  for  the  future  but  myself.  Jasper,  enter  him  for 
the  Cup.  We  will  give  him  a  chance  to  retrieve  this  day's 
failure." 

Mr.  Jasper  arose,  and  the  two,  amid  a  volley  of  good- 
nights,  passed  into  the  corridor. 


88  Staunch  of  Heart. 

As  Adrien  turned  to  ascend  his  private  staircase  he  said, 
quietly : 

"Jasper,  can  I  trouble  you  for  yet  another  favor?  That 
poor  fellow — let  him  have  a  Christian  burial  in  the  chapel 
yonder;  and  if  there  are  any  relations  find  them  out 

and There,  you  know  better  what  I  would  do  and 

how  to  do  it.  Bon  nuit!" 

Mr.  Jasper  returned  the  kindly  salutation  and  trod 
softly  down  to  his  own  apartments. 

"Christian  burial!"  he  chuckled,  smoothly.  "Oh,  yes, 
he  shall  have  Christian  burial  in  the  family  vault !  Lucky 
for  me  the  hound  died  when  he  did,  or  matters  would 
have  been  awkward.  Ah,  well,  it  is  the  risks  and  chances 
of  the  little  game  that  make  it  so  enchanting.  A  grand 
coup  to-day !  Let  me  see,"  and  smiling  at  his  smooth  face 
in  the  glass  he  closed  one  eye  and  touched  the  fingers  of 
the  right  hand  with  his  left.  "Five — ten  with  Yorkshire 
Twining's  last  little  touch — ten  thousand  pounds !  Ah, 
if  these  gay  jays  knew  how  the  'intruder/  the  'interloper' 
as  they  call  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  behind  his  back,  was 
deftly  stripping  them  of  their  golden  feathers,  how  they 
would  wince.  Ten  thousand!  But  Twining  was  too 
risky.  My  grand  knight  might  have  smelled  a  rat.  It 
was  like  him,  'twenty  to  one/  because  some  stranger 
doubts  the  strength  of  his  horse's  legs !  Oh,  he  has  a 
mighty  regal  way  with  him,  my  fine  prince,  a  mighty  way 
with  him,  that  'tis  well  he  can  afford  to  pay  for.  Ten 
thousand  pounds !  Go  on,  Jasper,  the  game  grows  excit- 
ing; you  hold  the  winning  cards.  Gentlemen,  make  your 
game;  the  ball  is  rolling." 

With'  this  invitation  to  mankind  in  general,  and  his 
noble  and  wealthy  acquaintances  in  particular,  Mr.  Jasper 
commenced  to  disrobe. 

He  kept  no  valet.  Men  of  his  character  do  not  fancy 
one  pair  of  eyes  so  constantly  upon  them.  "The  man  who 
takes  off  your  coat  and  parts  your  hair  sees  farther  into 
your  heart  than  any  one  else,"  says  a  modern  Rabelais, 
and  Mr.  Jasper  agreed  with  him. 

"I  am  a  simple-minded,  rough-and-ready  creature,"  he 
often  assured  his  friends,  "and  a  man  to  tie  my  cravat  and 
worry  me  into  wearing  an  uncomfortable  hat  because  he 


Staunch  of  Heart.  89 

happened  to  want  a  comfortable  one  for  himself  would 
drive  me  mad.'* 

So  he  undressed  himself  slowly,  reckoning  up  his  little 
gains,  smiling  at  his  mask  of  a  face  in  the  large  mirror, 
and  hatching  his  little  plots  with  every  knot  he  untied, 
every  button  he  released,  and  at  last  got  into  bed  and  slept 
as  softly  and  comfortably  as  an  open-hearted  farmer's 
wife. 

Not  so  Adrien,  his  friend  and  benefactor. 

Dismissing  Norgate,  after  he  had  removed  the  close- 
fitting  evening  coat  and  replaced  it  with  a  dark  purple 
velvet  dressing-robe,  the  heir  of  Barminster  threw  open 
the  windows  of  his  dressing  room  and  stepped  out  on  to 
the  terrace. 

It  was  a  bright  night  and  the  stars  were  glittering  like 
diamonds  on  the  satin  of  an  empress'  bosom. 

The  wealthy,  much-envied  Adrien  leaned  against  the 
marble  balustrade  and  looked  out  upon  the  sight  with  a 
sigh. 

Before  him  stretched  in  seemingly  endless  vista  the 
woods  and  meads  of  his  inheritance.  At  his  side  out- 
stretched wings  of  the  gray  old  castle,  above  him  rang  out 
the  heeled  step  of  the  watchman  on  the  battlements,  be- 
fore, behind,  around  him  on  all  sides  immense  wealth  and 
power,  and  yet 

Well,  he  sighed,  and  mused  thus: 

"Grand  old  woods,  sighing  there  with  a  thousand  voices, 
what  does  the  wind  say  to  you,  or  what  are  you  telling  the 
wind?  Are  you  mourning  for  the  departed  day  and 
dead-and-gone  masters  ?  Days  of  glory  and  men  of  might. 
Are  you  bewailing  the  degenerate  race  that  now  own  you 
and  pining  for  some  greater  hearts  and  manlier  hands? 
Degenerate  indeed.  Who,  looking  at  the  grim  old  lord, 
surly  and  sullen  as  a  bear,  would  think  him  of  the  stock 
of  whom  kings  learned  courtesy?  And  who — still  worse 
—looking  at  me,  the  pampered  Sybarite  of  a  degenerate 
age,  would  guess  that  my  ancestors  made  these  same 
woods  ring  to  the  tune  of  their  war  shouts  and  the  clash- 
ing rhythm  of  their  arms  ?  Oh,  degenerate  days  indeed ! 
Hollow  mockery  of  nobility  and  glory,  when  the  greatest 
feat  is  his  who  devises  a  new  cravat  or  invents  a  fresh 
entree! 


90  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"I  /am  very  weary  of  it  all.  I  am  like  the  skeleton  at  the 
emperor's  feast.  'Man  delights  me  not  nor  woman 
neither/  Ah,  there's  the  rub.  Others  find  sweet  consola- 
tion in  the  'grande  passion/  Soft  lips  console  them  for 
past  and  faded  glories,  sweet  kisses  lull  their  shame  and 
manly  remorse  to  slumber.  Love,  that  marvelous  panacea 
for  man's  heartache,  soothes  the  galled  vanity  and  jaded 
agony  of  other  men,  but  flies  from  me  as  sleep  fled  from 
the  blood-stained  Richard.  And  wherefore  ?  Fair  women 
have  smiled  on  me  since  my  cradle  days.  Soft  lips  in 
plenty  were  ready,  nay,  eager  to  lull  me  to  content.  Many 
a  score  of  dainty  voices  have  raised  their  charm,  to  find 
it  powerless. 

"And  wherefore  am  I  incapable  of  love  ?  Is  this  heart 
of  marble;  am  I  fated  to  pass  through  this  weary  round 
of  days  to  the  end  without  feeling  the  warmth  of  that 
great,  tender  mystery?  Where  shall  I  find  a  sweeter, 
lovelier  face  than  my  fair  cousin's  yonder  ?  A  light  burns 
in  her  casement,  she  is  still  awake.  Is  it  vanity  or  but  the 
plain  truth,  to  remind  myself  that  she  is  thinking  of  me, 
and  thirsting  for  my  love? 

"Can  I  not  see  it  in  every  turn  of  her  head,  in  every 
glance  of  her  dark,  quiet  eyes  ?  Then,  why  cannot  I  give 
her  love  for  love,  take  the  first  offering  she  would  pour 
upon  the  altar  and  mingle  to  the  gods  my  sacrifice  with 
hers?  Why?  Why?  Because  my  heart  tells  me  that 
Constance's  face,  beautiful  as  it  is,  is  not  enshrined  in  the 
inner  sanctuary  of  my  soul.  I  know  as  if  it  were  clearly 
writ  on  yonder  bright  planet  that  I  do  not  love  her,  that  I 
do  not  love  one  of  the  many  fair  forms  that  lie  in  my 
path,  and  that  until  the  divine  flame  springs  hot  and  pas- 
sionate in  my  breast  I  shall  be  cold  and  weary  still.  Oh, 
love,  well  may  the  poets  who  rave  of  thee  call  thee  divine 
and  mighty,  if  without  thee  life  is  but  a  tasteless  draught 
and  pleasure,  the  Dead-Sea  apples  of  dust  and  ashes!" 

His  hand  fell  on  the  broad  marble  slab  as  he  uttered  the 
last  words  wearily,  and  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  or 
startled  by  his  light  step  on  the  mosiacs,  a  casement  farther 
down  the  facade  was  flung  open  and  the  figure  of  the 
baron  stepped  out  upon  the  terrace. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  91 

Adrien  was  in  no  humor  to  meet  his  father,  was  too 
weary  and  dissatisfied  with  himself  and  all  else  to  confront 
the  old  man's  satire  and  ill-nature  with  his  usual  respectful 
calm,  so  he  turned  into  the  shadow  of  a  buttress  and 
Waited. 

The  baron's  quick  eye  saw  him,  however,  and  striding 
forward  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Well,  sir?"  he  said.  "Can't  you  sleep,  or  is  this  the 
new  mode — to  spend  the  small  hours  stargazing?" 

"I  might  retort  in  kind,  my  lord,"  replied  Adrien,  com- 
ing forward  with  a  smile. 

"I  am  old,  sir,  and  have  thoughts  more  wakeful  than 
yours  should  be.  I  am  old,  and  you  are  young." 

"Say  sad  as  well,  sir,  and  woefully  tired,  and  that  is 
worse,  I  think,  than  age." 

"You  have  not  tried  the  latter,"  retorted  the  baron, 
grimly,  fixing  his  eagle  eyes  upon  his  grand,  reposeful 
face.  "You  have  not  tried  the  latter,  sir.  And  so  you 
find  it  sad ;  the  moods  of  present  times  are  new  and  strange 
to  me.  At  your  age  I  was — well,  if  not  happy,  at  least, 
merry.  You  seem,  sir,  when  away  from  other  eyes,  as  if 
you  had  taken  Care  upon  your  shoulders  and  could  not  be 
rid  of  him.  Perhaps  you  are  thinking  of  the  fortune  that 
unlucky  horse  lost  you  this  morning;  or  perhaps  regret- 
ting that  your  friend  had  not  broken  his  own  neck  instead 
of  his  miserable  tool's." 

"My  lord!"  exclaimed  Adrien,  quietly  but  amazedly. 
"Of  whom  do  you  speak?" 

"Of  whom  should  I  speak  but  that  baseborn  cur  who 
insulted  me  under  my  own  rooftree — that  bosom  friend 
of  yours,  Jasper  Vermont?  Are  you  blind,  sir?  are  you 
deaf?  Did  you  not  see — were  there  none  true  enough  to 
you  to  point  out  the  significant  glances  that  passed  be- 
tween the  dying  man  and  his  tempter  ?  Did  you  not  hear 
the  villian's  accusation  of  the  demon  who  had  killed  him  ? 
Deaf  and  blind  as  the  man  who  harbored  the  viper,  if  you 
hear  not  its  rattle  and  see  not  the  venom  in  his  eyes.  I 
tell  you,  vain  boy,  that  Jasper  Vermont  bribed  that  miser- 
able jockey  to  rope  your  horse,  and  that  you  have  been 
swindled  out  of  the  thousands  this  last  amusement  cost 
you!" 


92  Staunch  of  Heart. 

Adrien's  eyes  blazed. 

"My  lord,"  he  said,  and  his  voice,  though  low,  was  as 
hard  and  metallic  as  steel,  "you  wrong  yourself  in  tempt- 
ing me  thus  to  wrong  another.  Jasper  Vermont  in  league 
with  a  jockey!  He  is  as  incapable  of  such  villainy  as  I 
should  have  thought  you,  my  lord,  of  such  an  accusation. 
But,  forgive  me,  you  have  some  proofs,  doubtless;  give 
them  to  me,  my  lord,  and  if  they  are  unanswerable  I 
promise  you  to  punish  as  severely  as  you  yourself  could 
w!ish." 

The  baron's  brows  knitted. 

"Proofs  ?"  he  repeated,  sternly,  but  with  a  troubled  twist 
of  the  lip.  "Do  such  villians  work  so  clumsily  as  to  leave 
proofs?  No,  I  have  no  proofs  but  the  common  instincts 
of  humanity.  Your  friend  is  a  rogue ;  it  is  writ  on  his 
smiling,  plebeian  face,  and  it  needed  only  the  scene  of  this 
morning  to  confirm  my  suspicions.  Believe  me,  sir " 

"My  lord,  forgive  me,"  said  Adrien,  drawing  himself 
up  to  his  full  height  and  looking  marvelously  like  the 
austere,  stern  face  he  fronted.  "Forgive  me,  you  have 
forgotten  in  the  expression  of  your  dislike  that  the  man 
you  speak  of  is  indeed  my  friend.  I  should  be  unworthy 
of  yourself  if  I  stood  meekly  quiescent  under  such'  an  ac- 
cusation against  him,  for  such  a  vile  charge  falls  on  us 
who  clasp  his  hand.  We  share  its  indignity  and  it  becomes 
us  to  hurl  it  back  upon  the  traducer.  Prove  to  me  that 
he  is  the  scoundrel  you  would  have  me  believe  him  and 
I  will  render  you  such  due  satisfaction  in  his  punishment 
that  you  shall  be  the  first  to  cry  'enough.'  Otherwise,  if 
you  cannot  give  me  anything  more  tangible  than  the  bare 
accusation,  you  but  bind  me  closer  to  him  by  the  wrong 
you  do  him.  Proofs,  my  lord,  or " 

"What?"  said  the  baron,  and  his  face  grew  pale  and 
twitched.  "Nay,  do  not  reply.  I  have  no  proofs.  You 
have  conquered;  but,  sir,  mark  me,  you  have  conquered 
against  your  own  good.  From  this  time  hence  go  you  your 
own  way,  hand-in-hand  with  that  man.  Let  these  eyes  see 
what  they  may,  these  lips  shall  utter  no  farther  warn- 
ing. Go,  sir,  to  the  doom  which  awaits  all  those  who 
place  their  trust  in  faithless  curs.  As  for  me  I  will  wait, 
and  I  prophesy  that  before  the  grave  shuts  out  all  things 


Staunch  of  Heart.  93 

from  these  eyes  they  will  rest  on  the  agony  of  your  be- 
trayal. 

"Enough  of  the  viper.  Now  to  fresh  follies.  Adrien, 
you  are  a  man.  I  am  nearing  the  tomb  yonder  in  the  old 
church.  Barminster  looks  to  its  heir,  and  would  have  not 
a  wassailer,  empty  of  heart  and  weary  of  religion,  but  a 
man  such  as  his  fathers  have  had  before  him — a  man 
Iwith  man's  duties  and  man's  cares,  but  with  man's 
stake.  Adrien,  at  your  age  your  mother  was  at  my  side, 
ruling  with  me  beneath  this  flag ;  at  your  age  I  had  given 
the  house  its  pledge  of  a  son  and  heir ;  at  your  age  I  was 
wedded  and  had  left  the  lighter  loves  of  the  world  for  a 
more  lasting  and  responsible  one. 

"Strange  stories  reach  me — wafted  here  by  malicious 
tongues,  no  doubt — of  your  life  yonder.  You  live  the 
pace,  they  tell  me,  and  call  you  monarch  of  the  fashionable 
world.  Barminster  Castle,  the  house  of  refuge  to  the 
martyred  Charles,  looks  for  something  higher  as  its  lord 
and  master  than  a  reveler  among  the  scum  of  the  earth. 
I  tell  you,  sir,  at  your  age  I  was  wedded." 

"And  loved?"  said  Adrien,  softly. 

"Ay,  loved,"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "Your  mother, 
sir,  had  had  something  which  is  higher  even  than  beauty, 
though  in  these  days  they  tell  me  you  have  made  it  the 
supreme  deity.  Your  mother,  sir,  was  that  which  ranks 
above  rubies,  a  good  and  virtuous  woman,  worthy  of  a 
Leroy's  love." 

Adrien  turned  his  pale,  calm  face  suddenly  and  raised 
his  hand  from  the  marble. 

"  'Worthy  of  a  Leroy's  love !' "  he  repeated.  "Find  me 
such  a  woman,  good,  virtuous,  capable  of  firing  the  dead 
passion  in  my  heart,  and  I  will  wed  her,  my  lord ;  until 
then " 

"Find  her  for  yourself,  sir ;  and,  if  you  need  a  guiding 
finger,  I  would  point  where  others  long  since  have  marked 
—to  Constance  Tremaine." 

Adrien's  face  darkened  and  he  turned  with  a  sigh. 

"She  loves  you,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  "and  you  would 
turn  aside !  Pearls  are  thrown  in  gutters  nowadays  to  the 
men  who  neither  know  them  for  their  worth  nor  stoop  to 
pick  them  up.  She  loves  you,  sir." 


94  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"And  I " 

He  stopped  short  and  paced  up  and  down,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  mosaics. 

"Will  you  learn  to  love  her  in  return?"  said  the  old 
man. 

"Will!"  said  Adrien.  "To  command  love  is  beyond 
human  power.  I  cannot  say  'I  will/  my  lord ;  but  if  your 
heart  is  set  upon  it  shall  I  say  'I  may'  ?" 

The  baron  caught  his  hand,  then  dropped  it  suddenly 
as  if  ashamed  of  the  momentary  emotion. 

"Well  said,"  he  exclaimed.  "Act  upon  it  but  bah  a? 
firmly  and  I  shall  see  the  clouds  lifting  from  your  brow. 
Give  up  the  weary  round  of  tasteless  pleasure,  fling  the 
cup  aside,  make  Constance  your  wife,  and  give  the  house 
a  son  to  rule  after  you.  Then — well,  praise  comes  ill  from 
my  lips,  but  at  least  you  shall  hear  no  words  worse  than 
'well  done'!" 

As  he  spoke  he  let  his  hand  fall  to  his  side,  and,  draw- 
ing his  velvet  robe  around  his,  strode  to  his  window. 

Adrien  paused  in  his  pacing  and  looked  after  him. 

"Love  Constance !"  he  murmered ;  "would  that  I  could 
say  'I  will/  but  at  best  I  can  but  say  'I  may.* " 

He  turned  as  he  spoke  and  with  thoughtful  brow  passed 
into  his  own  apartment. 

A  moment  after  the  casement  above  him  opened  and  a 
woman's  face  looked  out. 

It  was  marvelously  beautiful  but  deadly  pale.  The  dark 
eyes  swept  the  terrace  with  a  flashing  glance,  then  rested 
upon  the  spot  where  Adrien  Leroy  had  last  stood. 

The  firmly-pressed  but  delicately-formed  lips  opened 
slightly  with  a  sigh,  then  a  crimson  flush  flooded  the  fair 
face  and  there  wafted  out  into  the  still  night  air: 

"Mine  be  the  task,  Adrien  Leroy,  to  change  that  'I  may* 
to  'I  must' !  'May*  love  me !  I  swear  he  shall  I" 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  MERIVALE  DIAMONDS. 

Plies  were  made  for  spiders, 
And  spiders  make  webs  for  flies. 

The  morning  following  the  night  of  the  conversation 
recorded  in  our  last,  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  ordered  out  the 
small  traveling-carriage — Adrien's  stables  and  coach 
horses  were  always  at  his  disposal — and  returned  to  Lon- 
don. 

"He  had  business  to  do,"  he  left  word  for  Adrien,  "set- 
tlements to  make  at  Tattersall's,  but  he  would  be  back  as 
soon  as  possible." 

So,  with  a  coachman  and  a  footman,  Mr.  Jasper  jour- 
neyed to  London,  serene,  placid  and  filled  with  that  satis- 
faction which  most  men  experience  when  they  are  about 
to  lavish  other  folks'  money. 

At  the  Park  Lane  House  Mr.  Jasper  dismissed  the  car- 
riage and  the  servants ;  and,  most  respectfully  received  by 
the  servants,  who  looked  upon  him  as  grand  vizier  to  their 
sultan,  Adrien,  partook  of  a  light  but  expensive  luncheon, 
and  then,  with  one  of  his  friend's  choicest  regalias,  strolled 
through  the  park. 

The  loungers  and  idlers  who  knew  him  nodded  with 
a  forced  smile  of  friendship — it  is  politic  to  be  friendly 
and  cordial  with  a  man  who  has  the  confidence  of  the  lead- 
er of  fashion;  those  who  did  not  looked  after  him  and 
seemed  to  half  nod  with  that  air  which  says  so  plainly, 
"There  goes  a  wealthy,  prosperous  man." 

Mr.  Jasper's  hat  was  off  half  a  dozen  times  a  minute  to 
the  ladies  of  his  acquaintance,  his  face  wreathed  in  a 
perpetual  smile  of  recognition. 

Presently,  when  he  had  nearly  reached  the  arch,  he  met 
a  lounger  with  a  face  as  long  and  doleful  as  a  professed 
undertaker's. 

95 


g6  Staunch  of  Heart. 

Mr.  Jasper  stopped  him. 

"Well,  Beau,  how  do  you  do?  Been  committing  mur- 
der, or  have  you  married  ?" 

"Neither,"  answered  the  exquisite,  a  captain  in  the 
''Household,"  one  of  the  fastest  and  most  liked  fellows 
of  the  day.  "Neither,  Jasper,  but  I've  just  come  from  the 
city." 

"City  of  the  Tombs,"  drawled  Mr.  Jasper,  facetiously. 

Captain  Beauclerc  laughed,  but  rather  mournfully. 

/'Yes,  all  my  hopes  are  buried  there.  Beastly  place! 
They  ought  to  stick  over  the  wfest  side  of  Temple  Bar 
'Abandon  hope  all  ye  who  enter  here !'  " 

Mr.  Vermont  laughed. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  with  it,  Beau,  won't  it  lend 
you  any  more  cash?" 

"Worse,"  said  the  young  spendthrift.  "It  actually  wants 
me  to  repay  what  I  owe  it  already." 

"Oh !"  remarked  Mr.  Jasper,  simply,  but  his  "oh"  was 
full  of  meaning — and  sympathy. 

"Yes.  That  hard-hearted  old  flint,  Harker — what  a 
wretch  he  is,  I  should  like  to  bury  him.  I'm  sure  he  isn't 
alive,  unless  he'sjihe  living  skeleton.  Such  a  bag  of  skin, 
bones  and  hard-heartedness.  Well,  there's  a  pretty  little 
tot-up  in  the  way  of  bills  he  holds  of  mine,  and  of  course 
I  expected  to  have  'em  renewed  as  usual." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  "of  course,  as  you  have  been 
having  them  re-done  for  the  last  three  years?" 

Captain  Beauclerc  nodded. 

"Yes,  but  the  old  fellow  shakes  that  long  head  and  says 
'No !'  and  all  I  could  say  wouldn't  change  it.  You  know 
the  cock-and-bull  story  he  tells?  It's  always  'Well,  Cap- 
tin  Beauclerc,  I  should  be  glad  to  serve  you  in  the  mat- 
ter, but  I  am  not  the  principal  here.  I  am  a  servant,  a 
servant  only.  My  principal  bade  me  call  your  bills  in, 
and  I  am  compelled  to  do  so.  I  can  but  obey.  It  is  not  in 
my  power  to  grant  your  request.  The  bills  must  be  called 
in — and  the  usual  steps  taken  if  you  are  unable  to  meet 
them!"3 

Mr.  Jasper  laughed  quietly,  but  with  sarcastic  enjoy- 
ment. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  97 

"Of  course;  that's  the  money-lender's  stereotyped  ex- 
cuse. He  is  never  the  principal,  always  puts  the  screw  on 
by  another  man's  order.  Poor  Beau,  I'm  afraid  he'll  sell 
you  up." 

Captain  Beauclerc  whistled. 

"It  will  be  a  terrific  crash  for  Lord  Vane,  you  know, 
Jasper.  He  can't  give  us  younger  ones  anything  more 
than  a  small  allowance,  and  it  comes  hard  upon  him  when 
we  turn  up  like  this." 

"What's  the  amount  ?"  asked  Mr.  Jasper. 

"Not  much,"  replied  the  captain.  "Only  seven  thou- 
sand. But  why  do  you  ask?"  he  added,  with  a  faint 
eagerness.  "Do  you  think  you  can  help  me  ?" 

"Well "  said  Mr.  Jasper,  slowly,  eyeing  his  cigar 

meditatively. 

"I  know  one  way,"  said  the  troubled  debtor,  "and  that  is 
to  get  Adrien  Leroy  to  back  the  bills,  but  I  can't  ask  Jiim." 

"But  I  can,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  smiling  with  conscious 
power,  "and  I'll  do  it  for  you,  Beau." 

"You  will!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  gratefully,  almost 
forgetting  the  impassability  which  his  order  consider  so 
necessary.  "You  will !  Jasper,  you're  a  brick.  I'm  sure 
he'll  do  it  for  you.  What  a  fine  fellow  you  are !" 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  with  a  smile,  "but  will  old 
Harker  take  Leroy's  name." 

"Why,  of  course,  who  wouldn't  ?"  asked  the  guardsman, 
the  cloud  dispelled  from  his  brow.  "It's  as  good  as  the 
Bank  of  England.  Harker  take  it  ?  Only  try  him !  What 
would  he  get  by  selling  me  up  ?  Nothing." 

"True,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  pleasantly.  "You're  not  worth 
the  price  of  that  old  broom,  are  you,  Beau?  Well,  I'll  do 
it  for  you.  Going  to  Lady  Eveline's  to-night?  Yes? 
Then  we  shall  meet  again  at  Philippi ;  till  then,  farewell !" 

And  with  a  shake  of  his  fat,  smooth  hand,  the  benevo- 
lent Mr.  Jasper  went  smiling  on  his  way. 

None  knew  where  Mr.  Jasper  really  lived. 

He  had  private  apartments  in  Adrien  Leroy's  Park 
Lane  house,  and  in  Adrien's  quarters  at  the  castle  four  out 
of  the  immense  number  of  rooms  were  kept  as  and  called 
Mr.  Vermont's  suite. 


98  Staunch  of  Heart. 

But  the  locality  of  that  particular  morsel  of  the  globe 
which  Mr.  Vermont  sanctified  by  the  name  of  "home" 
every  one — Adrien  included — was  ignorant.  If  ques- 
tioned on  the  subject  it  was  Mr.  Jasper's  custom  to  an- 
swer, lightly : 

"Home?  What  does  such  a  waif,  such  a  jetsam  and 
flotsam  of  the  world's  tide  want  with  a  home?  My  dear 
fellow" — or  "madam,"  if  the  locutor  happened  to  be  a 
lady — "if  you  want  me  I  am  at  either  of  these  three 
places :  Leroy's  town  house,  the  club,  or  Barminster  Cas- 
tle." 

And  to  either  of  these  places  his  fashionable  acquaint- 
ances directed  their  inquiries  for  him. 

But  Mr.  Jasper  had  a  home,  and  it  consisted  of  two 
rooms  on  the  first  floor  of  an  unpretentious  house  in 
Mount  Street. 

Small,  very  plainly  furnished  they  were,  and  without 
the  slightest  pretension  to  that  luxury  without  which  Mr. 
Jasper  had  often  declared  he  should  find  it  impossible  to 
live. 

Here  he  could  find  shelter  at  any  time  of  the  night,  for 
he  possessed  a  pass  key,  and  by  his  orders  the  bed  was 
kept  continually  aired. 

It  was  no  uncommon  thing  for  the  maid  who  waited  on 
him  to  leave  the  rooms  tenantless  at  night  and  find  them 
occupied  when  she  arose  to  open  the  house,  Mr.  Jasper 
having  returned  in  the  dead  of  night,  silent  and  noiseless. 

The  second  morning  after  his  sudden  flight  to  town  Mr. 
Jasper  sat  in  his  sitting-room  before  a  breakfast  so  plain 
that  his  fashionable  acquaintances  would  have  stared  in 
astonishment  and  doubted  ocular  demonstration. 

Mr.  Jasper  Vermont,  the  epicure,  the  connoisseur  of 
sauces  and  authority  on  Perigords'  breakfasting  off  a 
plain,  underdone  chop  and  some  liquid  produced  from 
grinding  and  boiling  dried  beans — alias  coffee!  Could  it 
be?  Yes,  it  was.  Mr.  Jasper  boasted  to  himself  that  he 
could  adapt  himself  to  circumstances,  enjoy  expensive 
cuisines  at  his  friends'  expense,  and  exist  on  and  even  en- 
joy the  plainest  diet  at  his  own.  Before  him,  crowding  the 
small  table,  were  piles  of  letters,  sheets  of  closely-written 
foolscap,  slips  of  memorandum  forms. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  99 

Standing  before  him  was  a  short,  thin  man  dressed  in 
black. 

This  man  was  remarkable  for  two  things.  Firstly,  for 
die  extreme  pallor  of  his  face;  secondly,  for  the  sharp, 
restless,  yet  greedy  look  of  his  eyes.  He  was  fearfully 
thin,  and  his  clothes  of  black  hue  and  seedy,  much-worn 
condition,  heightened  his  meager  appearance. 

He  stood,  one  bony  hand  thrust  in  his  waistcoat,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 

There  was  a  look  of  such  profound  humility,  fear,  de- 
precation on  his  face  that  his  relation  in  sentiment  to  the 
placid-faced  Mr.  Jasper,  who  sat  voraciously  devouring 
his  chop,  could  not  have  been  more  markedly  servile  and 
deprecative  if  he  had  thrown  himself  upon  the  ground 
and  whined  to  his  master  to  tread  upon  and  spurn  him, 

While  Mr.  Jasper  finished  his  chop  and  drank  the  re- 
mains of  his  coffee  the  man  never  moved,  never  raised 
his  eyes;  he  simply  waited  patiently,  doggedly,  with  the 
servile  obsequiousness  of  a  spaniel.  » 

Mr.  Jasper  pushed  his  plate  away,  wiped  his  thin,  mo- 
btle  lips  with  his  table  napkin,  and  drew  the  heap  of  papers 
toward  him. 

With  keen  eyes  and  quick  brain  he  grasped  the  multi- 
plicity of  facts  they  set  forth,  checked  the  long  column  of 
figures,  struck  the  balances,  and  with  a  nod  of  satisfaction 
looked  up  at  the  man  waiting  for  a  word  to  be  thrown  to 
him.  . 

"All  right,  Harker,  as  far  as  I  see,  and,  as  you  know, 
that's  all  the  way  and  a  little  beyond.  A  decent  balance, 
but  we  must  do  better  than  that.  Now,  where's  the  private 
lists?" 

"Here,  sir,"  said  the  man,  in  a  dry,  rasping  voice,  very 
quiet  but  very  clear,  like  the  creaking  of  an  old,  rusty- 
hinged  door. 

"Where  ? — oh,  yes,  I  see.  Now,  let  me  see.  Oh,  Pom- 
frey  has  come  to  us,  has  he?  Writing  poetry  is  not  a  pay- 
ing game,  eh  ?  or  is  it  the  fine,  grand  company  that  runs 
away  with  the  golden  counters  ?  Well,  all  fish — or  idiots, 
that  come  to  our  net,  eh,  no  matter  what  wind  drives 
them?  Thirty  percent,  from  Pomfrey ;  no  more?" 


ioo  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"I  could  not  get  any  more,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Harker,  earn- 
estly. "I  tried,  tried  hard,  indeed  I  did,  sir !  I  would  not 
give  in  until  he  threatened  to  go  to  another  office." 

"Hem !  well,  I  suppose  it's  the  truth,  though  of  course 
all  money-lenders  are  rouges !  and  you're  a  money-lender, 
you  know." 

And  Mr.  Jasper  looked  up  for  a  moment,  to  laugh  at 
the  logical  joke. 

"Who  backs  his  paper?  The  marquis — oh,  oh — and 
my  lord  is  pretty  deeply  on  our  books  already,  isn't  he? 
Where  are  his  statistics  ?" 

"Here,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Harker,  taking  a  paper  from  the 
heap. 

Mr.  Jasper  glanced  at  it,  and  laid  it  down  with  an  evil 
smile. 

"Oh,  he's  good  for  more  than  that,  Harker;  but  be 
cautious.  We'll  lend  him  money  for  another  ten  thousand, 
but  put  another  five  per  cent,  on — another  five  per  cent. 
on.  Marquises  must  pay,  to  set  the  fashion  to  commoner 
folk.  By  the  way,  Captain  Beauclerc " 

''Whose  bills  you  instructed  me  to  call  in,  sir?" 

"Yes ;  well,  I've  promised  to  intercede  for  him  with  you, 
and  to  get  Mr.  Leroy  to  back  the  renewal.  Hah !  hah  t 
what  fun  it  is !  Poor  idiot !  He  shook  my  hand  with  the 
gratitude  of  a  Damon !  Mr.  Leroy  will  back  the  renewal, 
and  you  will  let  it  run.  Beauclerc's  the  second  son,  Lord 
Vane  is  on  his  last  legs,  and  the  eldest  won't  live  another 
year ;  w'e  can  come  down  like  kites  when  the  gallant  cap- 
tain has  the  title  and  estates.  Till  then  we'll  wait,  but 
stick  out  for  another  two  and  a  half  per  cent.  Make  the 
calves  bleed,  Harker,  make  'em  bleed." 

"And  in  the  matter  of  the  young  artist,  Wilson,  sir?" 

"Eh,  Wilson  ?    Oh,  yes.    You  sell  him  up  to-morrow." 

"Yes,  sir ;  that  was  your  command.  He  called  yester- 
day, and  pleaded  for  another  week.  His  wife  is  dying; 
they  are  starving.  He  begs  hard  for  another  week " 

"Stuff,  another  week ;  the  dog  means  another  year.  He 
should  have  thought  of  the  time  for  repaying  when  he  was 
borrowing.  Another  week — not  another  hour.  Sell  him 
up  to-morrow!  Mind,  I  say  it.  The  dissolute  dog!  Did 
not  I  hear  him  call  me  'a  parasite  from  the  pavement.'  one 


Staunch  of  Heart.  101 

night  at  a  ball  ?   Screens  have  ears,  Mr.  Wilson,  and  para- 
sites have  memories.  Sell  him  up— do  you  hear,  Harker  ?" 

"I  do,  sir ;  it  shall  be  done,"  replied  the  man,  meekly. 

"And  now  for  Leroy's  account !  Ha !"  and  with  a  gleam 
of  fiendish  delight  he  scrutinized  the  figures  and  state- 
ments. "Hah !  you  are  getting  them  in — fast." 

"All  Mr.  Leroy's  bills  we  are  getting  in — 'buying  up 
wherever  they  are  to  be  met  with,  sir,  according  to  your 
instructions." 

"Right ;  get  him  into  your  hands — you  know  how,  and 
be  prepared  for — you  know  what !" 

Mr.  Harker  inclined  his  head  as  a  Hindoo  half-caste 
does  to  a  first-class  Brahmin. 

"And  now  for  the  women.  Hah !  hah !  dear  creatures 
of  butterflies  will  come  upon  the  nasty,  sticky  papers  that 
were  meant  to  catch  the  blue-bottles  only ;  well,  then,  they 
must  take  the  consequences.  What !  the  Countess  Meri- 
vale — the  fair  Eveline.  The  disciple  of  De  Musset,  and 
one  of  Leroy's  loves!  She  wants  to  borrow  money?" 

"She  dabbles  in  the  Stock  Exchange.  I  know  her  busi- 
ness man ;  he  owes  us  money,  sir,  and  we  know  his  secrets* 
She  has  been  losing  lately.  She  has  deposited  her  dia- 
monds, sir " 

"Her  diamonds?  The  famous  Merivale  diamonds? 
Where  are  they?" 

"Here,  sir;"  and  Mr.  Harker  produced  from  his  long 
pocket  a  shallow  morocco  case,  which  he  tendered  with  all 
due  humility  to  his  employer. 

Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  opened  the  case,  and  gazed  on 
them  with  twinkling  eyes ;  then  shutting  it  with  a  laugh, 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  rubbed  his  fat,  smooth 
hands  over  his  chin. 

"And  what  will  her  ladyship  do  for  them?  And  when 
were  those  left  ?  I  saw  her  last  night,  and — by  Heaven ! 
she  wore " 

"Paste  imitations,  sir.  I  had  them  made  up  for  her. 
Did  you  think  the  counterfeit  good  ?" 

"Capital !  Oh,  is  it  not  rich  ?  That  old  idiot  must  have 
eyed  her  proudly,  and  gloated  over  his  Merivale  diamonds 
on  his  beautiful  wife's  fair  bosom,  little  guessing  they 
were  Mr.  Harker's  tawdry  glass  mockeries !  Capital,  Har- 


IO2  Staunch  of  Heart. 

ker;  but  take  care — take  scare.  Remember  madam  the 
duchess,  who  brought  her  jewels  to  pledge,  and  dis- 
covered that  they  were  paste  already,  and  that  the  duke 
had  done  the  transmutation  before  her.  Beware !" 

"I  am  careful,  sir,  I  am  careful,  very.  I  do  not  think— 
I  trust — there  have  been  no  losses,  even  small  ones.  I  do 
my  best,  sir,  indeed  I  do  my  best." 

"Well,  I  believe  you.  You  keep  up  appearances,  do 
you  ?  Never  forget  to  urge  upon  them  that  you  are  only 
a  subordinate,  that  you  have  a  principal  and  act  only  on 
his  instructions!  The  more  you  assert  it  the  more  they'll 
think  it  a  falsehood.  Keep  it  up,  Marker,  and  then — well, 
you  know  I  keep  my  promise.  By  the  way,  how  is  the  lit- 
tle Lucy?" 

As  he  spoke  the  name,  half  scornfully,  quite  indiffer- 
ently, a  visible  change  came  over  the  man — his  tool  and 
puppet.  His  face  became  paler,  if  that  were  possible,  his 
head  dropped  lower,  his  whole  figure  drooped  forward  in 
deepest  dejection,  fear,  supplication. 

"Well,  sir,  quite  well,  and  deeply  grateful  for  your 
kindness,  your  mercy,"  he  said,  wetting  his  dry  lips. 

"Ah,  and  well  she  may  be,  young  hussy.  A  fine  thing 
for  her!  Married  and  respectable.  Ah,  if  that  soft- 
hearted, simple  little  husband  of  hers  knew  all  I  knew! 
Strange  that  I  should  have  dropped  on  to  her  and  that 
young  first  lover  of  hers  down  in  that  quiet  country  place ! 
Strange,  wasn't  it?  Now,  I  dare  say  they  thought  they 
were  as  safe  as  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  Didn't  think 
Mr.  Jasper  Vermont,  a  friend  of  the  family,  could  be 
stopping  at  the  same  hotel.  Young  dog,  he  ought  to  have 
married  her.  Better  that  he  didn't,  eh?  Yet  that  weak, 
amiable  little  grocer,  innocent  and  unsuspecting,  lets  her 
have  it  all  her  own  way  and  believes  her  just  a  little  purer 
and  whiter  than  the  angels !  Ah !  ah !  clever  little  thing, 
Lucy.  Makes  him  think  she  loves  him,  I  dare  say." 

"My  poor  child  loves  her  husband  better  than  her  own 
life,  sir,"  breathed  the  father.  "Oh,  sir,  have  pity  on  her! 
She  is  so  happy — they  love  each  other  so!  She  is  my 
own  flesh  and  blood !  Forget  that  cursed  night,  that  fiend 
who  led  her  astray.  Forget  that  she  is  anything  but  the 
wife  of  an  honest  man.  Oh,  sir,  have  mercy !" 


Staunch  of  Heart.  103 

"Well,  Harker,  I  will.  I'm  all  mercy.  Do  your  duty 
by  me,  and  I  won't  go  down  and  tell  the  story  of  that  night 
to  Lucy's  good  little  grocer  husband.  But  don't  ask  me 
to  forget,  my  good  fellow,  for  that's  folly!  I  never 
forget  1" 

The  man's  head  dropped  on  his  breast,  and  with  a  quiet 
helpless  gesture  he  wiped  the  great  beads  of  perspiration 
from  his  white  forehead. 

"Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you,  sir.  I'll  do  my  duty.  I'll 
work  for  you  like  a  slave,  like  a  dog.  I'll  give  my  life  if 
you  require  it,  but  spare  my  child — my  poor  Lucy !" 

Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  re- 
garded the  man's  agony  with  quiet  amusement  and  enjoy- 
ment for  a  few  minutes ;  then  he  gathered  the  papers  to- 
gether, put  them  into  the  drawer  of  his  safe,  locked  it  with 
a  Bramah  key,  and  dismissed  Mr.  Harker  with  a  nod. 

"You  can  go.  Don't  forget  the  Leroy  paper,  renew 
Beauclerc,  but  sell  that  artist  scamp  to  the  last  stick  and 
stone.  Hah!  Hah!  parasites  can  bite  as  well  as  cling, 
Mr.  Wilson." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  STREET  WAIF. 

Alas,  the  love  of  women!  it  is  knows 
To  be  a  lovely  and  a  fearful  thing. 

Mr.  Johann  Wilfer,  to  whom  we  beg  leave  to  introduce 
our  readers,  was  by  profession  a  picture  "toner,"  or,  in 
other  words,  a  member  of  a  gang  of  ingenious  rascals, 
who  imitated  the  less  known  gems  of  the  old  masters  and 
palmed  them  off  on  the  public  and  wealthy  collectors  as 
genuine. 

The  impostures  were  very  cleverly  got  up,  and  quite  a 
little  system  was  instituted  to  bring  them  to  a  state  of  per- 
fection. 

Of  that  system  Mr.  Johann — who  was  by  birth  of  Ger- 
many, where  such  artistic  shams  are  most  immensely 
manufactured — undertook  the  part  of  "toning,"  that  is 
giving  to  the  imitations  the  necessary  mistiness  and  dis- 
coloration supposed  to  be  produced  by  age. 

He  was  very  clever  at  his  work,  and  the  gang  never 
dared  to  put  out  a  picture  without  his  aid. 

The  way  in  which  a  mock  Rubens,  Titian,  or  some  other 
great  masterpiece  was  manufactured  was  the  following : 

One  man,  most  noted  for  figures,  would  paint  the  sub- 
ject; another,  who  could  best  depict  drapery,  clothed  the 
figures ;  another,  more  apt  at  foliage,  supplied  the  trees  if 
there  were  any,  and  the  skies  and  landscape  fell  to  the 
lot  of  the  members  of  the  gang  best  qualified  for  that  por- 
tion of  the  picture.  When  the  artists  had  finished,  the 
picture  was  handed  to  Mr.  Wilfer,  who  set  to  work  with 
various  oils,  tints,  and  chemicals,  and  give  it  the  smoky, 
creamy  tone  which  distinguishes  the  great  originals. 

Then  the  picture  was  complete  and  a  purchaser  sought 
for. 

Of  course  the  disposal  of  the  sham  was  not  the  easiest 

104 


Staunch  of  Heart.  105 

part  of  the  swindle,  and  here  again  Mr.  Wilfer  played  an 
important  part 

Dressed  as  a  respectable  mechanic,  or  a  decayed  city 
clerk,  he  would  commence  the  attack  by  waiting  upon 
some  wealthy  art  collector  and  pitching  a  doleful  tale  of 
privation  and  want,  state  that  he  had  the  old  picture  hang- 
ing up  in  his  room  which  he  would  like  to  sell,  and  which 
he  implored  the  wealthy  collector  to  purchase. 

The  dupe,  always  enthusiastic,  would  as  a  rule  jump  at 
the  bait  and  hasten  in  a  cab  to  Mr.  Wilfer's  house  in  Soho. 
or  to  the  residence  of  some  other  member  of  the  gang 
where  the  cunningly  executed  imposition  hung,  carefully 
covered  with  dust  and  looking  as  old  as  Adam. 

A  price  was  named,  and  Mr.  Wilfer  would  seem  to 
accept. 

But  before  the  time  approached  for  the  delivery  of  the 
picture,  the  poor  clerk  or  mechanic  would  call  again  and 
state  with  great  delight  that  another  man  to  whom  he  had 
applied  before  he  had  the  honor  of  seeing  the  present  in- 
tending purchaser,  had  suddenly  offered  him  a  much 
larger  sum  than  the  collector  offered,  and  asked  what  was 
he  to  do. 

The  collector,  very  much  alarmed  lest  he  should  lose 
the  prize,  usually  bid  over  the  supposed  rival ;  the  picture 
was  delivered  and  paid  for,  and  the  gang  shared  the  spoil. 

Now,  Mr.  Wilfer  might  have  thriven — as  dishonesty 
generally  does  thrive,  notwithstanding  all  the  copybook 
mottoes — but  for  one  besetting  sin,  and  that  was  intem- 
perance. His  greatest  idea  of  enjoyment  was  to  be  in  a 
state  of  drunkenness  from  Sunday  morning  to  Saturday 
night. 

This  course  of  perpetual  intoxication  had  made  its 
'marks  upon  Mr.  Wilfer's  countenance,  which,  though  not 
'one  looking)  at  the  mottled  face  and  bleared  eyes  would 
believe  it,  had  been  a  by  no  means  unpleasing  one  in  his 
youth. 

Mr.  Wilfer  had  been  a  handsome  young  scamp,  always 
fond  of  his  glass,  and  always  leading  a  dissolute,  ruinous 
life  since  he  had  run  away  from  school,  and  broken  his 
good  mother's  heart.  She  had  not  been  the  only  one  to 
love  him,  for  before  the  good  looks  had  been  washed 


lo6  Staunch  of  Heart. 

out  by  strong  drink  he  had  won  the  heart  of  a  simple  little 
country  girl  named  Lucy  Goodwin. 

Lucy  believed  her  lover  to  be  everything  that  was  good 
and  clever,  and  trusted  him  to  the  extent  of  her  own  be- 
trayal. 

Under  some  pretense  the  young  scoundrel  had  enticed 
her  to  Canterbury,  and  there  had  proved  himself  the  ruf- 
fian that  he  was  by  betraying  the  confiding  girl  and  de- 
serting her  a  few  weeks  after. 

She  was  the  only  daughter  of  a  widower,  a  clerk  in  a 
country  bank,  who,  broken-hearted  at  hits  daughter's  ruin, 
threw  up  his  situation,  changed  his  name,  and,  accom- 
panied by  the  poor,  weak  girl,  fled  to  London,  there  to 
hide  his  misery  and  his  child.  Alas;  before  he  had  been 
there  a  month,  a  dark,  smooth-faced  gentleman  appeared 
at  their  quiet  lodgings,  announced  that  he  knew  of  the 
girl's  escapades,  and  threatened  to  proclaim  her  shame 
if  Mr.  Harker,  as  Mr.  Goodwin  was  now  called,  did  not 
bend  himself  to  his  will. 

What  could  the  tortured  father  do  but  submit? 

In  a  month  after  the  interview  a  new  money-lending 
firm  had  sprung  up  in  the  dismal  court  of  a  city  thorough- 
fare, and  the  managing  man  wa,s  Mr.  Harker.  The  prin- 
cipal's name  never  transpired,  and  though  the  silent, 
moody,  but  hard-hearted  Mr.  Harker  always  insisted  that 
there  was  one,  his  unfortunate  clients  laughed  him  to 
scorn,  disbelieved  his  assertions,  and  declared  that  the 
story  was  a  fiction  invented  to  aid  him  in  his  extortions. 

Time  pasjsed  on. 

Poor  Lucy's  pretty  face  and  modest  ways — perhaps  her 
very  sadness,  which  clung  to  her  in  never-ending  remorse 
—caught  the  heart  of  a  simple-minded  man,  one  John 
Ashford,  a  grocer  in  a  small  country  village  on  the  banks 
of  the  Thames. 

After  a  struggle  against  it  the  poor  girl  returned  his 
love,  and  ventured  to  marry  him. 

The  villain  Wilfer  was  supposed  to  be  dead.  None 
knew  her  secret  beside  her  father  and  kind  Mr.  Vermont, 
and  so  she  ventured  to  grasp  the  happiness  held  out  to 
her,  and  so  strengthened  the  chain  which  bound  her 
father  in  slavery  to  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont's  will. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  107 

For  if  they,  the  father  and  daughter,  feared  disclosure 
before,  how  much  did  they  dread  it  now,  when  Lucy  was 
married  and  another  heart  must  break  with  hers! 

Meanwhile  an  event,  one  of  those  links  which  bind 
widely  separated  beings  by  a  lengthened  chain  and  at  last 
brings  them  together  to  work  out  some  inevitable  pur- 
pose, occurred  to  Johann  Wilfer. 

One  day  while  he  was  lounging  at  his  door  and  thirstily 
longing  for  a  draught  of  his  enemy,  a  small  brougham 
drove  up  to  the  court,  a  lady,  whose  face  was  hidden  by. 
a  thick  veil  and  who  held  a  little  girl  by  the  hand,  de- 
scended from  her  carriage,  and  walked  straight  up  to  Mr. 
Wilfer. 

"You  sold  a  picture  to  a  gentleman  yesterday?"  she 
said,  in  anything  but  a  ladylike  voice. 

"I  did,"  said  Johann,  who  had  palmed  off  a  sham 
Titian,  as  asserted,  to  an  old  gentleman. 

"Well,  I'm  his  wife,"  said  the  woman,  rather  hesi- 
tatingly, "and  I  have  come  to  make  you  an  offer.  Are  you 
married  ?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Johann.    "But  walk  upstairs." 

The  lady  did  so,  and  seated  in  the  room,  still  holding  the 
child,  lifted  her  veil. 

Johann  Wilfer  knew  the  face  instantly.  He  had  seen  it 
at  a  theatre  only  the  night  before. 

It  was  the  beautiful  Haidee  Levison. 

He  looked  at  the  child  and  guessed  what  slie  required 
of  him. 

"Pm  not  married/*  he  said;  "but  my  sister  lives  with 
me,  a  very  kind  woman,  and  very  fond  of  little  girls." 

Mis»s  Levison  nodded. 

"Will  you  take  charge  of  this  one?"  she  said,  kissing 
the  girl,  a  dark,  beautiful-eyed  child,  looking  like  a 
young1  Spaniard. 

"I  will,"  he  answered. 

"It  is  not  mine,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Wilfer  smiled  significantly. 

"Needn't  trouble  to  go  into  particulars,  miss.  The  little 
one  will  be  well  taken  care  of.  What's  the  terms?" 

Miss  Levison  named  them.  They  were  liberal  and  Mr. 
Wilfer  jumped  at  them. 


io8  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"You  understand,"  said  the  lady.  "She  is  not  my 
child,  but  I  am  anxious  to  keep  her  quiet.  You  will  get 
the  cash  regular  as  a  clock,  and  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to 
keep  the  girl" — "gal"  she  pronounced  it — '"out  of  the 
way,  and  answer  no  questions  if  they're  asked." 

"I  can  do  that,  I  think,  said  Mr.  Wilfer,  with  a  grin, 
and  so  the  first  quarter's  allowance  was  paid  in  advance, 
the  little  dark-eyed  child  was  left  to  Mr.  Wilfer*s  tender 
mercies,  and  Miss  Levison  took  her  departure. 

Thus  was  forged  another  link  in  the  chain  of  incidents 
which  was  gradually  drawing  so  many  lives  into  the 
whirlpool. 

The  inexorable  Father  Time  still  passed  on,  and  Mr. 
Wilfer  kept  life  in  his  valuable  charge  and  drank  by  her 
means  still  harder,  working  at  his  sham  pictures  occasion- 
ally, but  generally  dragging  on  existence  on  the  allowance 
Miss  Levison  sent  him.  It  had  come  regularly,  as  she 
had  promised,  but  he  saw  nothing  of  her,  excepting  once, 
when  bitten  by  a  sudden  curiosity  he  went  to  the  cabinet 
which  her  new  possessor,  a  certain  wealthy  and  celebrated 
Mr.  Leroy,  had  purchased  for  her. 

One  day  the  gang  of  which  Mr.  Wilfer  was  so  useful 
a  member  dispatched  him  with  a  picture  to  Mr.  Harker. 
the  money-lender,  who,  they  had  been  informed,  was  a 
likely  purchaser  of  sham  "old  masters." 

Mr.  Wilfer  saw  Mr.  Harker,  and,  notwithstanding  the 
change  of  name,  recognized  him. 

The  old  man,  on  his  side,  never  having  heard  the  name 
of  Lucy's  betrayer — for  she  had  kept  it  from  him — knew 
nothing  of  his  visitor,  purchased  the  picture,  intending  to 
compel  one  of  his  wealthy  clients  to  take  it  as  part  of  a 
loan,  a  well-known  trick  of  the  dishonest  class  of  money- 
lenders. 

Mr.  Harker's  principal  discovered  the  imposition  at  a 
glance,  and  saw  in  the  imposter  another  tool.  He  in- 
structed Harker  to  obtain  a  written  guarantee  of  the 
genuineness  of  the  picture  from  the  pretended  mechanic, 
and  Mr.  Wilfer,  being  half  intoxicated,  for  once  forgot 
his  usual  caution,  and  gave  the  required  pledge. 

With  that  in  his  possession,  Mr.  Jasper  had  Mr.  Johann 
Wilfer  in  his  power,  and  only  left  him  undisturbed  be- 
cause he  saw  no  opportunity  of  using  him. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  109 

When  he  wanted  he  knew  that  he  had  only  to  exert  the 
power  which  the  clever  warranty  gave  him  and  Mr.  Wil- 
fer  would  be  his  obedient  servant,  as  so  many  better  men 
were  already. 

Quite  unconscious  of  the  sword  that  hung  over  him, 
Mr.  Wiffer  went  in  for  a  good  drinking  bout.  It  lasted 
for  three  weeks;  then,  when  his  share  of  the  spoil  had 
melted,  he  returned  and  visited  his  rage  upon  Reah. 

Braised  and  sore,  she  fled  into  the  streets,  where  Adrien 
Leroy  found  her,  and  Mr.  Wilfer,  having  done  his  duty 
by  the  charge,  fell  into  a  drunken  slumber. 

From  this  he  Y~as  aroused  by  the  entrance  of  a  gayly 
dressed  lady,  darkly  veiled.  » 

He  stumbled  to  his  feet,  stood,  and  half ''sobered,  recog- 
nized Miss  Levison. 

Her  face  was  flushed,  the  angry  light  Mr.  Jasper  had 
called  up  there  by  his  sneers  at  her  vulgarity  was  still 
burning  in  her  dark  eyes. 

It  was  long  after  midnight,  and  she  had  hastened  from 
the  hideously  decorated  room  in  St.  James*  to  Mr.  Wilfer 
on  a  mission  of  inquiry. 

"Where  is  the  gal  ?"  she  asked,  glancing  at  Mr.  Wilfer. 

"The  gal,"  he  repeated  stolidly. 

"Yes,  Reah !"  retorted  Miss  Levison,  her  jewels  flash- 
ing in  the  glittering  candlelight.  "Where  is  she?" 

"She  is  not  at  home,"  said  Mr.  Wilfer. 

"Is  she  dead?"  asked  Haidee,  her  eyes  glaring. 

"No,  she  ain't,"  said  Mr.  Wilfer;  "not  anything  like 
it,  but  as  lively  as  a  kitten.  She's  out,  gone  out  with  her 
aunt.  Gone  to  stay  the  night." 

Haidee  looked  keenly  at  him. 

"If  you  don't  believe  as  she's  adrift,  go  upstairs  and 
look  at  her  room." 

Haidee  walked  upstairs  and  returned. 

"It  is  locked,"  she  said. 

"Of  course ;  she's  quite  the  lady,  keeps  the  keys  herself," 
said  Mr.  Wilfer.  "Look  here,  here's  her  bonnet  and 
shawl,  here'is  one  of  her  boots." 

Miss  Levison  was  convinced  and  breathed  more  freely. 

"There  is  some  money,"  she  said,  throwing  him  a  packet 
of  coin.  "I  was  anxious  to  know  if  all  was  right  with  the 
gaL" 


HO  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Was  you  ?"  said  Mr.  Wilfer,  thinking,  not  unnaturally, 
that  she  meant  the  reverse  of  what  she  said.  "You'd  be 
quite  cut  up  if  you  thought  she  had  cut  this  mortal  life, 
I've  no  doubt." 

She  turned  on  him  with  a  fierceness  that  made  him 
recoil. 

"If  anything  happens  to  that  gal/*  she  said,  "111  hang 
you.  For,  mind  my  words,  for  I  mean  'em,  I  shouldn't 
have  cared  then  if  you  had  put  her  out  of  the  way  perhaps : 
but  now  I  want  her.  Do  you  hear?  I  want  her,  and  you 
take  care  she's  alive  and  ready  when  I  come  for  her." 

Then  she  left  the  room,  leaving  Mr.  Wilfer  staring  after 
her,  and  wishing  that  for  once  he  had  stayed  his  hand, 
and  not  driven  his  charge  into  the  old  misery  of  the  streets. 

Little  did  Mr.  Wilfer  or  Miss  Levison  imagine  that 
*he  was  at  that  instant  asleep  in  Adrien  Leroy's  chambers. 

We  will  now  return  to  her. 

Love  is  the  universal  epidemic,  there  is  no  inoculation 
that  will  carry  one  exempt;  given  a  warm  human  heart 
and  there  is  the  natural  susceptibility. 

No  matter  the  rank,  no  matter  the  sex — time,  position, 
reason  are  cast  to  the  winds ;  folly,  with  a  grin,  casts  wis- 
dom from  its  throne,  and  both,  hand-in-hand,  yield  them- 
selves to  the  decree,  both  bow  to  the  despotic  monarch. 

All  must  love. 

Lady  Juliet,  the  noble,  moving  like  a  celestial  beauty 
among  the  maskers,  is  caught  by  the  fair  hair  and  lan- 
guishing eyes  of  Romeo. 

Marguerite,  the  baseborn,  passing  up  the  cathedral 
steps,  is  snared  by  the  magic  youth  of  the  rejuvenated 
Faust. 

The  beggar  maid,  threading  her  way  through  the  mazes 
of  King  Cophetua's  camp,  is  stricken  by  the  regal  splen- 
dor of  his  face  and  form,  and  dares  return  the  admiration 
of  his  eyes  and  love  a  king. 

So  it  is  from  high  to  low.    Love  reigns  supreme. 

Dynasties  break  off  short  at  the  stem,  kingdoms  rock 
to  and  fro,  thrones  totter  and  fall,  crowns  crumble  into 
dust  on  kingly  heads;  but  love  rules  and  lives  on,  im- 
mortal, triumphant,  unconquerable. 

Long  may  he  live  and  reign ! 


Staunch  of  Heart.  Ill 

Reah,  the  street  waif,  whom  a  great  and  wealthy  man 
had  found  perishing  in  the  cold  and  carried  to  the  luxury 
and  warmth  and  the  magnificence  of  his  table,  knew 
nothing  of  all,  had  never  heard  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Faust 
and  Marguerite,  or  King  Cophetua  and  the  Beggar  Maid. 

All  she  knew  was  that  she  loved — nay,  scarcely  knew 
even  that ;  was  conscious  only  that  for  a  kind  word  from 
those  full,  sweetly-gentle  lips,  for  a  glance  of  those  dark 
eyes,  she  would  have  gladly  died. 

Loved  him — the  great,  kingly  creature,  who  seemed 
something  mpre  than  human  in  his  beauty  and  his  belong- 
ings !  No,  she  dared  not  so  much  even  in  thought.  She 
longed  only  to  see  him  again — and  yet  again ;  to  worship 
him  from  afar  as  a  devotee  kneels  tremulously  before 
some  terrible  yet  lovable  god,  and  to  clasp  to  her  heart  the 
remembrance  of  those  few  delicious  fairylike  hours  when 
she  nestled  against  his  breast  and  basked  in  the  sunshine 
of  his  presence. 

Poor  Reah,  how  sweet  and  yet  how  bitter  had  been  that 
awaking  in  the  gilded  cabinet !  How  sweet  to  find  herself 
there,  awake  and  not  in  a  dream,  how  bitter  to  know  that 
she  had  no  right  there  and  that  she  must  go! 

That  splendid  golden  chamber  with  all  the  wonderful 
undreamt-of  things  was  not  for  her.  She  looked  down  at 
her  wet,  dirt-stained  dress,  at  her  worn,  ragged  shoes,  at 
her  cold  hands  and  shuddered.  She  had  no  right  there. 
Should  she  take  advantage  of  his  goodness  to  remain  and 
sully  the  beauty  of  his  palace — for  to  her  it  was  a  palace 
— by  her  unworthy  presence?  No,  woman-child  as  she 
was,  she  spurned  the  thought,  caught  up  her  hat  and  arose 
resolute. 

"He  will  think  Reah  ungrateful,"  she  murmured,  with 
half-closed  eyes.  "He  will  think — no  matter,  he  is  great 
and  good,  he  will  forget  poor  Reah  before  half  an  hour. 
I  will  go  to  Johann  and  get  my  beating.  This  is  no  place 
for  me/' 

Then,  with  a  little,  graceful  movement,  Oriental  Egyp- 
tian-like, she  bent  over  the  mantel  and  pressed  her  lips  to 
the  spot  where  Adrien  had  rested.  Quickly  but  passion- 
ately she  kissed  his  coat,  the  chair  he  had  sat  in,  then,  with 
the  noiseless  step  of  a  young  tigress,  stole  from  the  room. 


1 12  .    Staunch  of  Heart. 

The  sun  was  breaking  through  the  mist,  but  she  shiv- 
ered as  its  rays  touched  her,  and  sighing  trod  wearily 
Soho  way. 

It  was  all  over,  this  little  patch  of  fairy  light  in  the 
drear  darkness  of  the  girl's  existence,  and  as  she  reminded 
herself  of  its  finish  she  shuddered  again. 

Looking  back  so  far  as  she  could  remember  she  saw 
herself  quite  a  ichild  in  the  room  in  the  [Court  with  Johann 
Wilfer  and  Martha. 

From  the  first  day  of  her  consciousness  of  existence  till 
now  this  had  been  the  first  bit  of  sunshine.  What  wonder 
that  she  was  unhappy  at  parting  with  it. 

Suddenly,  as  she  passed  into  Oxford  Street,  she 
stopped,  struck  with  such  an  idea  that  the  rich  young 
blood  flew  to  her  pale,  dark  cheek  and  flushed  it  into  sud- 
den beauty.  Her  large,  southern  eyes  grew  thoughtful, 
then  full  of  a  strange  light. 

"Why  should  I  go  back  to  Johann?"  she  murmured. 
"Can't  I  follow  him — the  great  gentleman  ?  Can't  I  be  a 
servant  ?" 

The  answer  came  quickly  enough,  and  from  her  inner 
self. 

No,  she  must  go  back.  Of  that  service  could  she  be  to 
such  a  noble  gentleman  ?  No,  she  must  go  back. 

And  so,  wearily,  but  still  with  that  grace  which  Oriental 
blood  bestows  though  it  run  in  the  veins  of  a  common 
gypsy,  such  a  street  waif  as  Reah,  she  reached  Johann 
Wilfer's. 

Mr.  Johann  Wilfer  was  not  Reah's  father.  She  knew 
that,  and  nothing  more.  She  had  never  asked  for  any  in- 
formation concerning  her  parentage — nay,  had  scarcely 
wished  for  any ;  it  was  enough  for  her  that  Johann  gave 
her  enough  bread  to  keep  life  within  her,  and,  when  he 
was  drunk,  enough  blows  to  make  that  life  miserable. 

This  virtuous  guardian  was  out  on  an  early  drinking 
expedition,  and  Reah  stole  up  the  rickety,  dimly  lighted 
stairs,  paused  at  the  door  of  the  living-room  to  ascertain 
that  it  was  empty,  then  ascended  to  the  staircase  to  the 
garret,  which  served  as  her  special  apartment. 

It  was  as  small  and  as  squalid  as  all  the  other  rooms  in 


Staunch  of  Heart.  113. 

the  crowded  court,  but  it  was  different  from  them  in  one 
respect;  it  was  clean. 

A  miserable  bed  of  straw  and  a  threadbare  quilt,  a  chair 
without  a  back,  a  washstand  on  three  legs,  and  a  triangu- 
lar piece  of  silvered  glass,  the  remains  of,  at  its  very 
best,  a  cheap  mirror,  comprised  the  furniture. 

This  triangular  piece  of  looking-glass  reflected  the 
young  girl's  beautiful  face  in  all  manner  of  hideous  forms, 
as  is  the  manner  of  bad  glasses.  The  quilt  just  kept  her 
from  perishing  with  the  cold.  But  yet  the  mirror,  the  bed, 
the  room  itself,  were  precious  to  her,  for  they  were  her 
own.  Beyond  its  sacred  threshold  Mr.  Johann  or  Mar- 
tha never  passed.  She  had  a  lock  and  key  to  it,  and  to  en- 
ter now  she  unlocked  the  rickety  door. 

Locking  it  after  her,  she  sank  upon  the  bed  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  her  head  drooped  forward, 
thereby  forming  a  picture  of  well-shaped  hands  and 
framework  of  glorious  hair  that  a  painter  would  have 
reveled  in,  and  gave  way  to  her  tears. 

It  was  natural  to  weep,  but  it  was  weak,  and,  with  a 
sudden  gesture,  almost  Spanish  in  its  intensity,  she  flung 
her  head  back,  arose  from  her  drooping  position  and 
stared  into  the  mirror. 

"I  will  not  think  of  the  beautiful  place.  I  will  not  think 
of  him,  more  beautiful  still.  What,  we !  Reah,  a  misera- 
ble, dirty  girl!  How  could  he  touch  me,  carry  me" — she 
shuddered  at  herself — "  and  speak  so  kindly  ?  Will  he  be 
sorry  that  I  ran  away  ?  Will  he  be !  Bah !  he  will  laugh 
and  ask  that  proud  servant  to  see  that  I  haven't  stolen 
anything.  Dirty  little  girl!  how  dared  you  go  into  the 
pretty  place?" 

She  shook  her  head  mournfully  at  her  distorted  reflec- 
tion ;  then  she  sighed  and  went  downstairs. 

Mr.  Johann  had  returned  for  a  wonder,  sober ;  indeed 
his  condition  was  very  much  to  be  wondered  at,  for  he 
was  in  possession  of  the  means  with  which  to  procure  that 
sort  of  beatific  intoxication  his  soul  loved. 

He  was  counting  some  silver  on  the  table,  some  gold, 
too,  for  the  girl's  quick  eye  caught  the  shimmer  of  it,  and 
he  looked  up  half  fiercely,  half  contemptuously. 

"Well,  girl,  where  have  you  been?    You're  like  a  cat, 


114  Staunch  of  Heart. 

or  a  policeman,  never  to  be  found  when  you're  wanted. 
There  was  a  pretty  lady  wanted  to  see  you  last  night — a 
swell,  my  girl.  Ha !  ha !  But  of  course  you  were  out  of 
the  way.  Where  had  you  got  to,  you  young  cat  ?" 

"Anywhere,  nowhere,"  replied  Reah,  who  did  not  fear 
him  when  he  was  sober,  though  she  hated  him  always. 

"Ah,  that's  the  style !  The  swell  ought  to  have  heard 
you  talk  like  that.  She'd  say  I  was  bringin'  you  up  well — 
ha !  ha !  Come  here,  let's  have  a  look  at  you." 

Reah  never  moved,  but  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"What,  you  won't  come  ?"  he  said,  with  a  grin.  "Well, 
there's  something  for  your  obstinacy,  little  mule !"  and  he 
flung  a  half-crown  across  to  her. 

The  girl  took  it  up  and  looked  at  it,  then  looked  him 
in  the  face  questioningly. 

"You're  thinking  I'm  mighty  generous,  eh?  So  I  am, 
girl,  foolishly  generous,"  and  he  laughed  mockingly. 
"Well,  what  do  you  say  if  all  the  lot's  for  you,  eh  ?" 

"All  for  me !"  repeated  the  girl,  stopping  short  in  her 
task  of  making  neat  the  mantle  shelf ;  "all  for  me !" 

"Yes,  when  you  get  it,  little  cat.  Ha !  ha !  all  for  you  ? 
No,  it's  for  me ;  and  I've  a  good  mind  to  take  that  half 
crown  back.  An  idiot  and  his  money's  soon  parted ;  but 
he's  more  idiotic  to  part  with  other  people's.  There,  keep 
the  half  crown  and  get  yourself  a  rope  to  hang  yourself 
with.  I'm  going  out.  Tell  that  old  ape,  when  she  comes 
in,  that  I  shall  want  some  dinner;  a  good  'un — half  a 
pound  of  steak  and  a  pot  o'porter  with  a  quartern  o'  gin 
in  it.  Mind  you  remember  now,  or  I'll  break  every  bone 
in  your  body,"  and  with  that  forcible  admonition  the  man 
shuffled  out. 

After  a  few  hours  he  returned,  not  drunk,  but  fairly 
spiteful,  ill-tempered  and  stupidly  brutal. 

Reah  heard  him  stumble  up  the  stairs  and  arose  from 
her  seat  on  the  floor — she  had  been  sitting  there  motion- 
less and  lost  in  thought  since  he  had  gone — and  prepared 
to  receive  the  expected  blow. 

"Well,  you  monkey,  where's  the  steak  and  the  liquor?" 

"Martha  hasn't  come  back." 

"Hasn't  come  back?  hasn't  come  back,"  mocking  her 

,* 


Staunch  of  Heart.  1 15 

stupidly.  "Well,  get  out  of  my  sight,"  and  raising  his 
unsteady  hand  he  aimed  a  blow  at  her. 

She  dodged  it,  passed  him,  and  went  up  to  her  garret. 

Presently  she  heard  him  stumble  down  the  stairs  again, 
and  gliding  down  to  the  room  below  saw  that  he  had 
taken  up  his  post  at  the  door. 

A  few  minutes  afterward,  where  she  sat  before  the  win- 
dow, staring  out  wearily,  hopelessly,  she  heard  a  voice 
that  sent  the  blood  rushing  from  her  face  to  her  heart. 

It  was  Adrien  Leroy's. 

She  heard  every  word,  her  heart  beating  as  if  it  would 
burst. 

How  dared  Johann  tell  such  falsehoods  ? 

He  would  go  away;  she  should  never  see  him — hear 
him  again. 

Oh,  what  agony  was  there  in  the  "Never  see  him 
again !" 

With  a  bound  she  reached  the  door — then  stopped, 
sighed  and  shrank  back.  After  all  it  was  better ;  he  would 
offer  her  money,  perhaps  (how  little  she  knew  him), 
would  say  a  few  kind  words,  make  her  long  for  him  more, 
and  the  pain  would  be  worse,  worse,  worse.  No,  let  him 
go,  believing  Johann's  falsehoods,  and  let  her  forget  him. 

So  she  crouched  beneath  the  window,  and  listened 
thirstily  to  her  benefactor's  retreating  footsteps. 

He  was  gone. 

When  her  brutal  guardian  came  up  she  could  have 
killed  him  for  his  deception,  though  she  had  refrained 
from  contradicting  it. 

Then  came  the  accusation,  the  attack  and  the  escape. 

She  was  out  upon  the  world — free,  it  was  true,  but  free 
only,  perhaps,  to  starve.  She  wandered  about  the  streets, 
and  gradually  her  feet  were  drawn  toward  Adrien's  cham- 
bers. She  watched  the  door,  herself  hidden  under  a  por- 
ticQ,  and  saw  the  marquis  and  Pomfret  come  out. 

Later  on  she  saw  Adrien  himself  and  forgot  her  hunger 
and  destitution  in  the  sight. 

That  night  she  slept,  or  rather  lay,  quiescent  but  awake 
under  a  straw  wagon  in  Covent  Garden  Market. 

On  the  morrow  she  bought  herself  some  food,  and,  like 


u6  ,  Staunch  of  Heart. 

a  moth  still  hovering  at  the  candle,  returned  to  watch 
Adrian's  door. 

Then,  failing  to  satisfy  the  hunger  of  her  eyes,  she 
spent  some  few  more  pence  and  wandered  out  up  the 
'Hamstead  Road,  out  into  the  country,  aimless,  purpose- 
less. But  at  night  she  returned,  and,  learning  from  the 
gossip  of  the  footmen,  the  destination  of  the  carriage 
which  stood  at  Adrien's  door,  waited  at  Lady  Eveline's 
for  a  glimpse  of  him. 

There  was  no  wagon  in  Covent  Garden  that  night,  no 
shelter,  and  she  crouched  upon  a  doorstep,  and  her  star 
being  hidden  from  her,  watched  those  in  heaven.  Watch- 
ing thus  she  fell  asleep.  Policemen  turned  their  lanterns 
on  her,  but,  touched  by  the  beauty  and  the  innocence  of 
the  face,  let  her  lie  without  the  awful  ejaculation,  "Move 
on!" 

Once  a  man,  flushed  with  wine,  staggered  toward  her 
and  was  about  to  clutch  her  arm,  but  a  something  about 
the  face,  its  loveliness,  its  mournfulness,  its  helplessness, 
touched  and  sobered  him,  and,  with  a  solemn  shake  of  the 
head,  he  passed  on. 

Presently  a  dark-robed  woman,  passing  slowly  with' 
weary  feet,  stopped  and  looked  at  her.  She  was  one  of 
that  new  band  of  Samaritans  who  have  sprung  up  in  our 
London  streets  with  healing  in  their  hands  and  pity  in 
their  hearts — a  Sister  of  Mercy,  belonging  to  no  order, 
following  no  set  rules,  who,  dressed  in  the  black  serge  and 
white  monastic  bands,  seek  the  helpless  and  the  lost,  and 
strive  to  help  and  restore  them.  She  stopped,  bent  down, 
and,  drawing  her  veil  aside,  looked  closely  at  the  mo- 
tionless face. 

Then  she  sighed  and  turned  her  head  away. 

"So  beautiful,  so  young!  I  was  once  beautiful  and 
young.  Can  it  be  possible?  Sister,  sister!" 

Reah  awoke  at  the  gentle  touch,  and  sprang  like  a  little 
tigress  to  her  feet. 

"Johann,  do  not  beat  me ;  I " 

"My  poor  girl,  no  one  will  beat  you !  Will  you  come 
with  me?" 

"With  you?"  repeated  Reah,  then  eyeing  her  suspi- 
ciously. "Where?  Not  far?" 


Staunch  of  Heart.  117 

"No,  not  far;  but  why  do  you  ask?  Do  you  not  wish' 
to  leave  the  street?  Is  there  any  one  you  wish  to  be 
near?" 

"No,"  replied  Reah ;  "no,"  but  she  added  to  herself  as 
the  Sister  of  Mercy  took  her  hand,  "She  shall  not  take 
me  far  from  here/' 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AT  THE  CASEMENT. 

But  'midst  the  crowd,  the  hum,  the  shock  of  men, 

To  hear,  to  see,  to  feel  and  to  possess, 
And  roam  along,  the  world's  tired  denizen, 

With  none  who  bless  us,  none  whom  we  can  bless. 

Harassed  by  that  restlessness  which  characterizes  all 
votaries  of  pleasure,  Adrien  Leroy  soon  wearied  of  Bar- 
minster  Castle. 

On  the  third  day  after  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont's  sudden  de- 
parture for  town,  Adrien  announced  that  engagements 
would  take  him  to  London,  and  his  guests  having  already 
left  the  castle,  his  servants  prepared  for  their  master's 
journey  to  take  place  in  the  morning. 

That  night  the  baron  dined  with  his  only  son,  and  Lady 
Constance,  whose  soft,  melting  eyes  for  all  their  languor 
were  quick  to  observe,  noticed  that  the  old  man's  manner 
was  a  trifle  less  stern  and  morose,  and  that  during  the 
pauses  in  the  conversation,  in  which  he  scarcely  joined,  he 
glanced  at  the  handsome  reposeful  face  which  so  nearly 
copied  the  hauteur  of  his  own,  with  a  thoughtful  and 
somewhat  gentle  expression. 

"You  go  to-morrow,  then?"  said  Lady  Constance,  as 
Adrien  entered  the  saloon  drawing-room,  the  baron  hav- 
ing retired  to  his  private  chambers. 

"Yes,"  he  enswered,  sinking  into  the  soft  lounge  at  her 
side.  "To-morrow  at  ten — before  you  are  up,  sweet 
cousin." 

"For  shame!"  she  said,  with  her  high-bred  laugh. 
"You  libel  me ;  I  always  breakfast  with  the  baron,  remem- 
ber, and  he  is  an  early  riser." 

"Ah,  I  forgot,"  said  Adrien. 

Then,  after  a  pause,  he  looked  at  her  and  added. 

118 


Staunch  of  Heart. 

"What  would  the  baron  do  without  you,  Constance?  I 
kiiow  not.  You  are  like  a  daughter  to  him." 

Lady  Constance's  eyes  drooped  and  she  smiled  faintly. 

"Say  rather  he  is  like  a  father  to  me." 

"You  are  a  better  daughter  than  I  am  a  son  to  him," 
said  Adrien,  still  looking  at  her,  and  wondering  why  her 
exquisite  beauty  did  not  touch  him. 

"You  do  not  see  h:m  often,"  admitted  Lady  Constance, 
who  knew  to  a  day  how  often  Adrien  had  visited  the  castle 
during  the  last  twelve  months,  for  had  she  not  sighed  at 
his  absence? 

"No,"  he  said,  "not  often.  I  have  many  claims,  en- 
gagments  more  than  I  can  fill.  How  is  it  we  see  so 
little  of  you  in  town  ?  We  can  ill  afford  to  lose  you." 

"I  am  not  over  fond  of  the  gayeties,"  answered  Lady 
poor,  you  know." 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Adrien,  quickly.  "I  had  forgotten 
— who  could  remember  it  while  looking  at  you — so  rich  in 
Constance.  "And  besides  there  is  another  reason — we  are 
beauty  and  in  grace  ?  Poor !  You  are  an  empress,  Con- 
stance." 

She  smiled  and  toyed  with  her  fan. 

"An  empress  dethroned — or  rather  uncrowned,"  she 
said,  softly. 

He  glanced  at  her,  then  looked  aside. 

Had  her  words  any  significance  ? 

He  almost  fancied  they  had. 

Dethroned!  Did  she  know  of  Haidee,  Lady  Eveline? 
Uncrowned !  Was  it  possible  that  she  could  be  as  eager 
for  his  hand  as  the  baron  was  for  him  to  bestow  it  on 
her? 

"Such  a  royal  brow  needs  no  crown,"  he  said,  ignor- 
ing any  significance.  "You  have  but  to  smile,  Constance, 
and  universal  sovereignty  is  yours." 

She  arose,  with  a  little  laugh. 

"Flatterer!  I  know  not  whether  to  smile  or  sigh  at 
your  compliments." 

"The  baron  would  sneer,"  said  Adrien. 

Lady  Constance  nodded. 

"Life  is  one  round  of  mockery  to  him,"  she  said, 
gravely. 


I2O  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"And  to  me,  too,  I  think,"  he  muttered,  inaudibly,  "did 
you  but  know  it,  fair  Constance." 

"And  when  will  Barminster  Castle  see  its  heir  again  ?" 
she  asked,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  her  music  folio. 

"When  ?"  he  repeated.  "I  cannot  say.  Jasper  Vermont 
could  tell  you  if  he  were  here,  I  dare  say ;  he  keeps  the 
memoranda  of  my  pleasure  engagements  as  methodically 
as  he  does  the  business  ones.  Soon,  I  hope." 

Lady  Constance,  who,  however  much  she  might  have 
disliked  Mr.  Vermont,  never  expressed  it  to  Adrien, 
looked  up. 

"Not  until  the  next  steeplechase,  I  suppose.  What  is 
the  next?" 

"The  Brigades  two  months  hence,  I  think." 

"The  King  will  run,  I  suppose?"  asked  Lady  Con- 
stance. 

"Yes,  and  I  shall  ride  him,"  said  Adrien. 

She  inclined  her  head. 

"I  am  not  surprised  after  that  stupid  jockey's  blunder 
and  the  accident,"  she  said.  "For  the  future  then  he  will 
run  only  in  gentlemen's  races?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "No  jockey  shall  ever  mount  him 
again." 

"You  will  save  some  thousands  by  that  resolution,"  she 
said,  looking  down  at  her  music  again. 

He  laughed. 

"I  never  thought  of  that ;  but  I  dare  say  I  shall.  Jasper 
will  be  delighted,  he  is  always  begging  me  to  cut  down 
my  expenses.  I  don't  know  for  what  reason." 

Lady  Constance  glanced  from  the  window  thoughtfully. 

"Surely  he  does  not  know  of  your  immense  income." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Adrien,  carelessly.  "Still  he  wishes  me 
to  retrench.  Jasper  is  a  good  fellow." 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Constance.  "A  most  useful  friend, 
I  should  think." 

"Indeed  yes,"  said  Adrien.  "And  now  are  you  going 
to  sing?" 

"It  will  wake  aunt,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Lady  Constance, 
glancing  at  Lady  Penelope,  where  she  reclined  on  a  settee 
comfortably  asleep. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Adrien,  "she  will  forgive  you." 


Staunch  of  Heart.  121 

He  arose  and  walked  to  the  piano,  arranged  the  music, 
and  remained  leaning  on  the  instrument  while  she  sang. 

Beautiful  voice,  beautiful  face,  beautiful  in  everything. 

Why  could  he  not  love  her  ? 

That  was  the  question  he  asked  himself,  and  he  almost 
started  when  she  ceased,  and  looking  up,  said: 

"Have  you  forgotten  the  bal  masque  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Adrien,  candidly — he  never  uttered  a  false- 
hood even  conventionally — "quite.  Forgive  me.  I  prom- 
ised to  ask  the  baron,  did  I  not  ?  And  will  do  so  to-night. 
I  now,  one  more  song,  and  then  farewell." 

"Till  Mr.  Jasper  allows  us  to  meet  again,"  said  Lady 
Constance,  sweetly. 

Adrien  smiled,  but  did  not  answer,  and  Lady  Constance 
breathed  out  one  of  Byron's  plaintive  chants,  and  then 
rose  to  wake  Lady  Penelope,  who  had  slept  throughout 
the  whole  of  the  conversation  and  the  melodies. 

"Going,  Adrien?  Well,  good-night,  my  dear.  Oh,  go- 
ing to  town — to-morrow,  too !  So  soon !  I  shall  not  see 
you  again  then." 

So,  half  asleep,  Lady  Penelope  kissed  him  on  the  fore- 
head and  left  the  room,  and  Lady  Constance  a  chance — 
if  she  could  take  it — of  a  warmer  farewell. 

"Good-night,  fair  cousin,"  said  Adrien,  holding  out  his 
hand,  "and  farewell,  too." 

"Good-night"  she  said,  laying  her  white,  soft  hand  in 
his.  -  "Good-night,  and  a  pleasant  journey." 

"Will  you  not  wish  me  a  speedy  return?*' 

"That  might  be  an  ill  wish,"  she  said,  smiling,  "'if  you 
do  not  care  to  come." 

"That's  true,  or  would  be  if  I  did  not,  but  I  do ;  so  will 
say  here  is  to  a  speedy  return,  Constance,"  and  he  bent 
his  head,  and  touched  her  hand  with  his  lips. 

The  gems  on  her  many  rings  flashed  brightly,  but  not 
more  brightly  than  her  eyes  as  she  crimsoned  under  the 
caress,  and,  sighing  softly  withdrew  her  hand  and  glided 
from  the  room. 

Adrien  looked  after  her  and  strolled  to  the  piano,  letting 
his  fingers  touch  the  keys  idly. 

"Beautiful  as  a  vision!  Wh'y  cannot  I  love  her?"  he 
asked  himself  again. 


122  Staunch  of  Heart. 

Then,  with  a  gesture  of  impatience,  strode  from  the 
room  and  up  the  corridor  leading  to  the  baron's  apart- 
ments. 

Next  morning  at  ten  o'clock  the  courier  was  waking  the 
echoes  with  his  horn,  and  Lady  Constance  from  her 
stained  latticed  window  saw  the  heir  of  Barminster,  fol- 
lowed by  the  servants  and  a  crowd  of  dogs,  saunter  into 
the  yard. 

He  was  to  ride  the  distance,  and  his  new  purchase,  the 
cob,  stood  champing  his  bit  in  the  courtyard  and  striking 
fire  from  the  flints  with  his  steel-shod  feet. 

Adrien  leaped  into  the  saddle,  and  nodding  to  the  man 
at  the  horse's  head,  was  about  to  start,  when  a  sudden 
thought  seemed  to  strike  him,  and  turning  the  cob  around 
he  looked  up  at  Lady  Constance's  window.  She  saw  the 
movement,  and  stretching  out  her  hand  unslid  the  bolt. 

The  casement  flew  open  and  revealed  her  beautiful  head 
framed  as  a  picture  by  Vandyke. 

Adrien  looked  up,  bowed  his  head  and  kissed  his  hand. 

She  shook  hers  in  return,  and  watched  him  with  an 
eagerness  he  could  not  see,  while  he  made  a  gesture  to  one 
of  his  men,  who  ran  into  the  lodge  and  brought  a  sheet 
of  paper. 

Adrien  wrote  something  on  this  with  his  diamond- 
studded  pencil,  and  folding  it,  gave  it  to  the  man  with  a 
message,  then  raising  his  hat  again,  he  galloped  over  the 
great  arch. 

A  few  minutes  after  the  groom  of  the  chambers 
brought  Lady  Constance  the  note. 

She  opened  it  and  read :  "The  baron  grants  us  the  bal 
masque.  We  will  make  it  an  eventful  one." 

"We  will  if  the  fates  are  kind,"  she  murmured.  "I  ac- 
cept your  challenge,  Adrien  Leroy.  Let  those  win  who 
may.  What  a  stake  I  fight  for!"  she  added,  glancing 
around  her  boudoir  and  then  through  the  window  at  the 
magnificent  vista  of  land  and  trees.  "What  a  stake !  It  is 
worth  an  effort  of  wit  and  woman's  patience." 

To  the  astonishment  of  every  one  in  the  place,  Mr. 
Vermont  arrived  at  the  castle  a  few  hours  after  Adrien 
had  started. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  123 

He  came  unattended  and  riding  a  stout,  fast-looking 
hack  presented  to  him  by  his  friend. 

"My  lord  has  gone  on,"  said  the  porter. 

"Gone!"  repeated  Mr.  Vermont,  with  an  elevation  of 
the  eyelids.  "And  only  a  few  hours  since.  Then  I  must 
have  missed  him  at  the  crossroads.  I  came  across  the 
heath." 

He  dismounted  as  he  spoke  and  walked  toward  the  en- 
trance to  the  side  hall.  Several  servants  preceded  him, 
bowing  obsequiously ;  for  next  to  the  sun  there  is  nothing 
better  than  the  moon,  next  to  my  Lord  Adrien  his  friend 
and  confident,  Jasper  Vermont.  But  Mr.  Vermont  waved 
them  aside  and  entered  the  reception-room. 

"You  would  like  some  lunch,  sir?"  said  the  house 
steward,  coming  forward  respectfully. 

Mr.  Jasper  nodded. 

"A  simple  something,  Mr.  Judson,"  he  said.  "  *A  glass 
of  Hunt  Brion  and  a  raised  pie?'  Oh,  thank  you,  yes." 

And  Mr.  Judson  turned  off  to  fulfill  the  commands. 

Mr.  Vermont  dropped  into  a  chair  and  sat  calmly  re- 
garding the  scene  through  the  open  window,  and,  strange 
to  say,  a  similar  thought  to  that  which  Lady  Constance 
had  put  into  words  ran  through  his  astute  mind. 

"It  is  a  large  stake  and  worth  playing  carefully  for." 

"Awkward,  my  missing  him,"  he  muttered,  smoothing 
the  outside  of  his  breast  pocket  as  he  spoke,  under  which 
were  some  deeds  and  documents  requiring  Adrien's  signa- 
ture. "He  would  have  signed  them  without  looking  at 
them  here;  at  his  chambers  he  may,  to  amuse  himself, 
glance  at  the  headings.  Let  me  but  get  his  name  to  these 
and  I  can  feel  surer  of  my  game.  No  need  to  trouble  or 
to  doubt.  However,  as  yet  all  has  gone  well.  Would  I 
were  as  sure  of  all  my  chances  as  I  am  of  him;  but  of 
others  there  is  no  such  certainty.  For  instance !"  he  mur- 
mured, as  the  curtains  swung  aside  and  Lady  Constance 
Tremaine  glided  down  the  steps  and  passed  before  him. 

Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  bowed  low  and  with  that  soft,  oily 
grace  peculiar  to  him,  and  which,  notwithstanding  its 
noiseless,  half  satirical  nature,  was  not  without  its  charm. 

Lady  Constance  just  lowered  her  head  the  slightest  and 
looked  at  him,  or  rather  through  him  into  worlds  behind 


124  Staunch  of  Heart. 

him,  as  a  monarch  would  look  at  a  scullion,  then  extended 
her  hand. 

Mr.  Vermont  took  it,  pressed  it,  and  suddenly  let  it  fall. 

There  was  a  Mephistophelean  audacity  in  the  sudden 
loosening  of  the  white  hand  that  attracted  the  haughty 
woman's  attention,  and  her  eyes  deigned  to  have  some- 
thing of  interest  in  them  as  she  looked  at  him  again. 

"I  hope  I  see  your  ladyship  well,"  said  Mr.  Jasper  Ver- 
mont, leaning  against  the  window  and  half  turning  to  the 
view,  and  so  keeping  his  own  face  well  in  the  shadow, 
while  every  feature  of  hers  stood  plainly  revealed  to  him 
in  the  lurid  glare  of  light. 

In  such  little  matters  as  the  arrangement  of  lights  and 
shadows  Mr.  Vermont  could  boast  of  a  stage  manager's 
adroitness. 

"I  am  very  wtell,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Vermont  Do  you 
know  that  Mr.  Leroy  started  for  London  at  ten  o'clock  ?" 

"I  have  just  heard  it,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  "and  was  sur- 
prised. It  is  rather  sudden,  is  it  not  ?  I  understood  from 
him  that  he  intended  staying  here  at  least  a  week." 

This  was  shaft  number  one,  and  though  Lady  Con- 
stance's well-bred  face  showed  no  sign,  it  hit  home. 

"So  he  had  intended  staying  a  week,  had  he?"  she 
thought,  "and  he  had  tired  of  Barminster  and  her  in  four 
days!" 

Mr.  Jasper  knew  the  thought  as  well  as  if  she  had 
spoken  it,  and  continued  with  a  slight  depression  of  the 
eyelids : 

"Yes,  Adrien  is  changeable,  one  can  never  count  upon 
his  movements ;  following  him  is  like  wild-duck  shooting, 
down  the  river  on  Monday  and  up  the  fens  on  Tuesday. 
I  am  sorry  I  have  missed  him,  for  I  have  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness which  demands  his  immediate  attention." 

Lady  Constance  inclined  her  head. 

"You  will  know  where  to  find  him  ?"  she  said. 

She  put  it  as  a  question  as  much  as  an  assertion,  for 
she  was  anxious  to  know  where  Adrien  had  gone. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  glancing  at  her  from  the 
corners  of  his  steel  eyes,  and  aiming  his  second  shaft 
carefully.  "He  will  be  at  the  theater  among  his  actors — 
and  actresses  to-night  or  at  the  Countess  of  Merivale's. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  125 

Lady  Constance's  eyelids  fluttered,  and  that  was  all. 

"He  is  often  at  the  latter  place  ?"  she  said,  carelessly., 

"Often — nearly  always,"  said  Mr.  Jasper.  "The  coun- 
tess is  a  charming  woman." 

"So  I  have  heard,"  said  Lady  Constance,  moving  to 
the  table  and  seating  herself.  "What  is  your  last  success 
at  the  'Casket/  Mr.  Jasper?" 

"Mine?"  echoed  Mr.  Jasper,  raising  his  eyebrows. 

"Are  you  not  the  real,  if  not  ostensible  manager  of  that 
expensive  amusement?"  said  Lady  Constance.  "If  you 
are  not  the  world  gives  you  too  much  credit  or — wrongs 
you  to  a  like  extent." 

He  bowed,  smiled  and  stroked  his  upper  lip. 

"No,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that  whim  of  Adrien's 
save  pay  the  actors  and  actresses  sometimes.  He  has 
the  entire  management,  and  I  am  not  answerable  for  its 
failures  or  to  be  credited  with  its  successes.  I  fear  your 
ladyship  places  more  to  my  charge  than  I  deserve." 

Lady  Constance  smiled,  and  regarded  him  calmly  but 
keenly,  a  regard  which  he  returned  unflinchingly. 

"We  know  that  you  are  a  great  and  a  true  friend  of 
Adrien's,  and  that  you  serve  him  most  faithfully  and  most 
amazingly.  We  are  sure  he  is  sensible  of  the  inestimable 
value  of  such  service,  and  is  grateful." 

"You  are  most  kind,  Lady  Constance,"  returned  Mr. 
Jasper,  and  in  the  words  and  the  bow  which  accompanied 
them -there  was  an  infinite  mockery  more  or  less  acute 
for  its  careful  suppression.  "Dare  I  offer  such  poor 
service  to  your  ladyship,  and  protest  that  what  humble 
abilities  I  may  possess  are  at  your  ordering?" 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Vermont,"  said  Lady  Constance,  ris- 
ing. "You  forget  that  I  have  no  need  of  such  talents 
as  you  possess.  I  am  neither  rich  nor  powerful,  have  so 
few  pleasures  that  they  can  well  be  managed  by  myself, 
and,  above  all,  could  make  no  return  for  such  disinterested 
faithfulness." 

"No  return!"  he  said,  with  a  strange  accent,  that  ar- 
rested her  steps  as  they  were  carrying  her  from  him. 
"No  return!  You  forget,  Lady  Constance,  that  disin- 
terested friendship  looks  for  none.  You  will  not  accept 


126  Staunch  of  Heart. 

my  offer  of  service,  but  notwithstanding  I  am  still  your 
slave  and — if  I  dare  use  so  sacred  a  word — your  friend. 

His  brow  would  have  done  credit  to  a  Richelieu,  and 
Lady  Constance  returned  it  with  an  imperial  smile  and 
glided  into  the  lower  hall. 

Mr.  Jasper  raised  his  head  and  returned  to  his  contem- 
plation of  nature  in  profound  silence,  which  not  even  the 
entrance  of  a  choice  luncheon  could  for  the  while  raise 
him  from. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"MOST  BEAUTIFUL,  TOO  BEAUTIFUL." 

Let  me  as  the  wild-wood  flowers  be 
Uncheered  and  solitary  still,  but  free. 
For  charity  is  hard  of  hand 
That  weaves  around  my  heart  a  band. 

"A  roof  of  thatch  is  better  than  that  of  heaven,"  is  a 
Spanish  proverb,  and  means,  no  doubt,  that  the  poorest 
home  is  better  than  none,  or  that  which  the  streets  provide. 

Reah,  clinging  to  the  Sister  of  Mercy's  succoring  hand, 
was  led  from  the  silence  of  the  streets  to  the  still  greater 
silence  of  an  attic  in  a  quiet  byway. 

Here,  seated  by  the  remains  of  a  small  fire  in  a  narrow 
grate,  she  watched  with  awkward  interest,  that  was  more 
like  pure  indifference,  the  efforts  of  the  sister  to  get  a 
kettle  of  water  to  boil. 

Soup  was  warmed  for  her,  but  for  a  time  she  refused  to 
have  it. 

The  warm  southern  blood  in  the  girl  was  heating  itself 
into  fever,  and  she  spurned  even  the  hand  of  such  gentle 
charity  as  that  which  was  extended  to  her. 

"I  am  not  hungry,"  she  said.  "Only  tired,  so  tired! 
Why  did  you  wake  me,  lady?" 

"I  woke  you  because  you  were  unhappy,  and  it  was 
dangerous  for  one  so  young  as  you  to  lie  asleep  in  the 
streets,"  replied  the  meek-eyed  sister.  "And  you  must 
not  call  me  'lady ;'  I  am  not  a  lady.  Call  me  'sister.' " 

"But  you  are  not  my  sister,"  said  Reah,  petulantly. 
"I  haven't  any  sister,  or  brother,  or  father,  or  mother." 

"Poor  thing!"  said  the  sister,  who  while  she  had  been 
speaking  had  made  up  a  bed,  plain  enough,  but  luxurious 
after  the  cold  doorsteps,  and  now  helped  Reah  to  undress. 
"Poor  thing,  you  are  quite  cold,  and  what  are  all  these 
bruises?  Ah,  me!  why  will  men  be  so  cruel  whea 
Heaven  is  so  kind  ?" 

127 


128  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Reah,  who  took  the  question  as 
one  directed  to  herself  and  which  she  was  expected  to  an- 
swer. "I  don't  know  anything.  Besides,  all  men  ain't 
cruel.  He  wasn't  cruel ;  he  was  kind,  oh,  so  kind !"  and 
she  put  up  her  hands  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"He!  Whom?"  said  the  sister.  Then  as  the  girl  did 
not  reply  she  looked  hard  at  her  and  sighed  again. 

"Now  you  will  sleep,"  she  said.  "And  when  you  wake 
I  will  give  you  food.  Will  you  kiss  me?" 

Reah,  with  the  impulsiveness  of  girlhood,  threw  her 
white,  gleaming  arms  around  the  linen-banded  neck  and 
kissed  the  sister's  pale  face. 

"Good-night,"  she  said.    "I  am  so  tired,  so  tired." 

The  sister  smoothed  the  coarse  pillow,  covered  her  with 
a  plain  coverlet,  and  stole  softly  from  the  room. 

When  Reah  awoke  the  sister  was  beside  her  with  a  cup 
of  tea  and  some  bread  and  butter. 

But  the  girl  refused  them. 

"I  am  not  hungry,  I  am  not  tired  now  either,  and  I  wiK 

go." 

The  sister  put  her  hand  upon  her  arm.  "Not  yet/'  she 
said.  "Where  have  you  to  go?" 

"Nowhere,"  said  Reah. 

"Then  stay  with  me,"  said  the  sister,  kindly.  "See,'4 
and  she  brought  a  basket  to  the  bedside.  "Here's  some 
work;  I  will  teach  you  to  do  this  and  we  will  live  to- 
gether. Will  you  not  stay?" 

Reah  looked  at  the  work,  and  silently  nodded  an  ac' 
quiescence. 

But  she  sighed.  To  such  a  nature  as  hers  freedom  was 
more  precious  even  than  life,  and  she  felt  that  she  was 
bartering  her  safety  for  worthless  food ;  besides,  however 
could  she  follow  the  being  who  had  been  so  kind  to  her, 
so  kind  to  her  when  even  this  gentle-faced  woman  called 
men  cruel ! 

But  she  stayed  and  patiently  worked  all  day,  striving 
earnestly  to  catch  the  knack  of  the  needle  and  emulating 
the  tireless  industry  of  the  religieuse,  who  worked  thus 
during  daylight  that  she  might  pursue  her  mission  of 
mercy  and  succor  at  night. 

Thus  passed  two  days,  and  then  Reah's  blood  got  rest- 


Staunch  of  Heart.  129 

less,  die  narrow  room  grew  stifling  and  unendurable,  and 
she  pined  for  the  open  air  as  a  caged  blackbird  thirsts  for 
its  native  woods. 

The  longing  grew  so  irresistible  that  at  last  she  suc- 
cumbed, and  throwing  down  the  piece  of  work  which  she 
was  employed  on,  she  arose,  burst  into  tears,  and  snatched 
up  her  weather-stained  hat. 

"I  can't  stay,"  she  murmured.  "I  can't  breathe.  I 
must  go,  I  must  see  him  or  I  shall  die.  I'll  go  before  she 
comes  back.  Oh,  I  wish  she  hadn't  been  kind  to  me.  I'm 
a  worthless,  miserable  ungrateful  creature." 

And  then  she  stole  down  the  stairs  very  much  as  she 
had  slipped  away  from  Adrien's  cabinet,  and  gained  the 
streets. 

It  was  the  night  of  the  day  of  Adrien's  return  to  town. 

Ignorant,  of  course,  that  he  had  ever  left  it,  Reah  found 
her  way  to  his  chambers,  and  waited  there  patiently  and 
hungrily,  in  hopes  of  seeing  him. 

Then  as  the  clock  struck  eight,  she  moved  sorrowfully 
away,  and  leaving  the  quiet  squares,  made  for  the  crowded 
thoroughfares. 

"Anything  would  be  a  relief,"  she  thought,  after  the 
silent  disappointment  she  had  endured  in  that  noiseless 
square,  and  the  crowds  pushing  and  jostling  her  brought 
her  a  wild  sort  of  satisfaction. 

The  crowd  was  dense  that  night,  diid  at  one  point  of  the 
hard-paved  footway  had  culminated  into  a  compact  mass 
awaiting  at  the  door  of  a  theater,  and  watching  a  hand- 
some carriage  that  had  just  driven  up  opposite  the  brill- 
iantly-lighted facade. 

She  was  compelled  to  pause,  and  with  the  others  she 
watched  the  carriage  listlessly. 

But  suddenly  her  indifference  gave  place  to  a  feverish 
eagerness. 

The  door  had  been  thrown  open  by  a  footman  and  two 
gentlemen  had  descended ;  one  was  he,  the  man  she  had 
enshrined  in  her  inmost  heart. 

The  color  forsook  her  face,  her  lips  parted,  and  she 
swayed  back,  half  fearful,  half  desirous  that  he  should  see 
her.  , 

But  he  seemed  not  to  see  even  the  foremost  members  of 


130  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

the  crowd,  not  to  hear  their  murmurs  of  recognition  and 
admiration — for  a  crowd  will  give  vent  to  its  admiration 
of  a  man  as  often  as  it  will  of  a  woman,  and  as  heartily, 
if  it  be  in  a  good  humor — and,  with  that  half  weary  and 
quiet  look  which  she  remembered  and  had  marveled  at 
when  he  caried  her  in  his  arms,  he  turned  and  held  out  his 
hand  to  assist  a  lady  to  alight. 

Reah's  eyes  flashed  from  his  face  to  the  woman's,  and 
grew  transformed  to  a  dark  red. 

"She  is  beautiful,"  she  muttered,  breathlessly.  "She  is 
beautiful  and  she  is  with  him." 

All  her  love  was  mixed  with  the  gall  and  acid  of  jeal- 
ousy. 

She  felt  that  she  could  have  flown  at  the  handsome  face 
and  beaten  it  into  the  dust.  Beautiful  and  with  him ! 

Oh,  Heaven,  what  agony  it  was !  What  had  that  beau- 
tiful woman  done  that  she  should  enjoy  such  bliss  as  to 
lean  upon  his  arm,  to  look  up  in  his  face,  to  feel  his  smile  ? 

The  mad,  passionate  girl  clinched  her  hands  till  the  tiny 
finger  nails  cut  her  soft  palms. 

Oh,  had  she  followed  him  for  this ;  not  to  learn  that  she 
is  as  nothing — that  she  knew  already — but  to  see  a  woman 
clinging  to  his  arm  ? 

She  stifled  a  cry,  then  stood  silent  and  breathless. 

He  was  speaking. 

"Wait  here  at  eleven." 

"At  eleven,"  she  thought,  "then  he  will  come  out  then. 
I  will  be  here  and  see  him." 

She  turned  to  push  through  the  crowd,  but  having 
gazed  its  fill  it  was  not  satisfied  without  a  little  gossip, 
and  with  open  ears  she  waited  and  listened. 

"Handsome  woman?  I  should  think  so,"  said  a  man, 
addressing  another  who  had  made  a  remark  on  the  lady's 
beauty  in  particular,  and  the  crowd  in  general.  "She's  the 
biggest  beauty  we've  got  on  the  stage ;  that's  what  makes 
them  so  precious  polite,  you  see.  Besides,  she  belongs  to 
him.  Know  him  ?  Of  course  I  do.  Who  don't  ?  That's  Le- 
roy,  the  richest  man  in  London.  He  owns  this  theatre, 
and  a  pretty  penny  it  costs  him,  leastways  not  so  much  the 
theatre,  don't  yer  see,  but  the  pretty  creatures  in  it.  Her 
name's  Haidee,  and  she's  a  Jewess.  I've  seen  her  often, 


Staunch  of  Heart.  131 

cos  my  brother  helps  with  the  scenes,  and  I've  gone  on 
behind." 

"And  who  was  the  gentleman  with  them?"  asked  the 
other;  ''some  celebrity  too,  I  suppose?" 

"I  don't  know  his  name,"  replied  the  first,  "but  you  allus 
see  him  with  the  other  swell.  He's  a  knowing  one,  you 
can  tell,  and  wouldn't  stand  much  nonsense,  but  he  ain't 
like  Leroy.  There  ain't  the  breed  in  him.  There  ain't  no 
breed  in  him.  The  other  might  be  a  dook  for  the  look  of 
him,  but  this  one's  more  like  a  Frenchman.  Look  here, 
here's  a  regular  Frenchman,"  he  added,  as  another 
brougham  drove  up,  and  the  Due  d'Olivier,  Pomfrey, 
and  the  marquis  alighted. 

"These  are  regular  tiptop  swells,  mind  you,"  said  the 
communicative  individual,  with  all  an  Englishman's 
adoration  for  birth,  "none  o'  your  makeshifts.  That's  a 
born  dook,  and  there's  a  marquis.  Lord!  this  'ere 
Casket'  is  crammed  with  'em  to-night,  'cos  it's  the  fashion, 
do  yer  see,  and  it  don't  matter  what's  going  on,  or 
whether  it's  amoosin'  so  long;  as  it's  the  fashion." 

"Just  so,"  said  the  little  man,  "and  then  Miss  Haidee 
is  the  fashion,  is  she?" 

"Yes,  she  is,"  assented  the  other,  "quite  the  tiptop. 
Money  itself  can't  buy  all  they  wants  sometimes.  She's 
got  a  house  to  live  in  like  a  duchess,  eats  off  gold  and 
silver,  and  all  for  a  pretty  face." 

Reah,  sick  at  heart  with  jealousy  and  bewilderment, 
for  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  she  did  not  under- 
stand one-quarter  of  the  meaning  of  what  she  heard, 
turned  away,  and  she  left  the  crowd  still  gazing  and  chat- 
tering. 

The  unfortunate  comedy  which  Miss  Haidee  had  so 
strongly  condemned  had  been  hastily  withdrawn,  and 
tonight  a  new  burlesque  was  produced  in  its  stead. 

No  expense  had  been  spared  in  the  mounting,  as  usual, 
and  Adrien's  money  had  been  poured  out  like  water  on 
French  costumes,  gorgeous  scenery,  marvelous  machin- 
ery, and  fifty  other  embellishments  for  the  new  piece  of 
elaborate  and  senseless  burlesque. 

But  the  people  loved  burlesque,  and  the  "Casket"  was 
crammed. 


132  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

Haidee,  the  popular  favorite,  could  dance  if  she  could 
not  act,  and  she  could  shout  a  vulgar  patter  song  if  she 
could  not  sing,  so  what  with  the  chance  of  receiving  an- 
other "hongkore"  with  the  breakdown,  and  the  string  of 
vulgar  slang,  she  was  bustling  about  the  greenroom  ra- 
diant with  anticipatory  triumph  -and  vanity. 

"Well,  Mortimer,"  said  Adrien,  as  the  cynic  approached 
him  where  he  leaned  against  a  wing  smoking  a  cigar 
and  languidly  watching  the  waste  and  extravagance  of  a 
band  of  coryphees,  utterly  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  the 
said  waste  was  at  his  expense,  "are  the  gods  cheerful  and 
amiable  ?" 

"Very,"  said  Mortimer.  "They  generally  are  at  a  sacri- 
fice ;  and  you  are  a  popular  one  of  theirs.  They  like  you ; 
you  bleed  so  freely  and  send  such  a  sweet  incense  to  their 
nostrils.  What  has  this  piece  of  tomfoolery  cost  you?" 

"I  don't  know,  or  care,"  laughed  Adrien,  knocking  the 
ash  from  his  cigar.  "Ask  Pomfrey,  he  wrote  it,  and  has 
had  the  management — or  better  still,  Jasper,  who  pays 
the  bill.  But  this  will  be  a  success,  Mortimer,  and  I 
shall  make  a  fortune." 

"For  Pomfrey  and  Mr.  Jasper,"  interrupted  Mortimer 
Shelton,  quietly.  "Yes,  I  understand.  Ah,  here  goes  the 
tigress.  Well,  Miss  Haidee,  haven't  you  a  word  for  me  ?" 

"I  hate  you!"  said  Miss  Haidee,  flashing  her  superb 
eyes  at  his  satirical  face. 

Adrien  laughed,  and  Mortimer  joined  it  with  evident 
enjoyment. 

"And  I,  to  follow  the  copybook,  ought  to  love  you,  for 
that  was  truth.  You  do  hate  me,  I  know.  Come  and  let 
me  open  a  bottle  of  champagne  for  you." 

"No,  I  shan't,"  said  the  popular  favorite.  "Ain't  you 
coming  to  see  me  go  on,  Hadrien?" 

"I  can  see  you  from  here,"  said  Adrien,  indolently. 
"You  look  charming,  my  dear  Haidee,  does  she  not,  Mor- 
timer?" 

"Most  beautiful,  too  beautiful/'  said  Shelton,  bowing- 
low. 

Haidee  pushed  out  her  lips  at  him,  cast  a  spiteful  glance 
at  Adrien,  and,  accompanied  by  a  burst  of  music,  bounded 
on  to  the  stage. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  133 

Mortimer  watched  her  with  a  sneer. 

"Hark !  how  they  applaud,"  he  said,  glancing  up  at  the 
crowded  and  delighted  house.  "What  is  Shakespeare's 
rant  to  such  a  breakdown  ?  Long  live  Mademoiselle  Hai- 
dee.  Shakespeare  was  an  old  woman  and  is  out  of  date ! 
Why  don't  you  get  rid  of  that  painted  vixen,  Adrien?" 

"Because-H —  I  don't  know,"  said  Adrien,  smiling. 

"Because  you  are  afraid  of  her,"  said  Mortimer.  "Ah, 
you  may  raise  your  eyebrows,  my  friend,  but  it  is  the 
solemn  truth.  Your  fine  nerves  are  so  exquisitely  strung 
that  you  dread  a  scene  as  a  musician  does  a  false  note, 
and  you  would  rather  face  a  cannon's  discharge  than  an 
angry  Haidee's  hysterical  reproaches.  Bah!  you  are 
cowards  all  of  you,  your  wealth  buys  you  nothing  but 
pleasures  that  dance  hand-in-hand  with  pain.  I'm  dis- 
gusted with  the  world." 

"Then'  why  don't  you  leave  it?"  murmured  Adrien. 

"For  the  same  reason  that  suffices  you,"  said  the  cynic, 
moving  away.  "We  are  neither  sure  that  we  shall  not  be 
more  disgusted  with  the  next." 

Adrien  laughed,  but  there  was  a  sigh  at  the  end  of  it, 
which  was  smothered  with  a  smile  as  half  a  dozen  pretty 
princes  in  silver  gauze  clung  around  him  begging  for 
bonbons. 

"Do  you  girls  think  I  am  made  of  bonbons?"  he  ex- 
claimed, without  moving  from  his  graceful  position. 
"Come,  run  away  and  be  ready.  Are  you  not  called  on  in 
the  next  scene?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Leroy,  it  is  such  a  success,  and  we  have 
danced  so  hard,  do  give  us  some,"  they  chimed  out. 

"Well,  go  to  Mr.  Jasper,  and  ask  him,"  said  Adrien, 
waving  his  hand. 

And  away  they  ran,  sweeping  past  Mortimer,  who 
shrugged  his  shoulders  at  the  marquis  significantly  and 
murmured : 

"Always  Mr.  Jasper." 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  crowd,  hot,  perspiring,  but  ex- 
cited and  satisfied,  poured  out  of  the  "Casket." 

It  was  a  fine  night  and  the  groups  of  pleasure-seekers 
were  not  melted  away  for  half  an  hour ;  even  after  then 
the  slight,  girlish  form  still  lingered  near  the  entrance 


ii34  Staunch  of  Heart. 

in  the  shadow  of  an  adjoining  house,  her  eyes  wandering1 
from  the  carriage  door  to  the  entrance,  where  the  firemen 
were  busy  turning  out  some  of  the  lights. 

Presently  what  she  waited  for  came. 

The  glass  doors  swung  open  and  three  or  four  gentle- 
men came  out  laughing  and  talking. 

"Quite  a  success,"  said  one. 

"Yes,  for  all  but  Adrien.  Pomfrey,  you  have  netted 
something  considerable  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  author,  with  quiet  satisfaction. 
"It  will  run  for  a  hundred  nights." 

"What  a  thing  it  is  to  be  a  popular  dramatist!"  sneered 
Mortimer. 

"Better  to  be  a  popular  and  beautiful  actress,"  whis- 
pered Paxh'orn,  as  the  door  swung  open  again,  and  Adrien 
came  out  with  Haidee  upon  his  arm  and  Mr.  Jasper  Ver- 
mont following. 

"All  here  ?"  said  the  sharp,  clear  voice  of  Adrien  Leroy. 
"Drive  to  my  chambers.  Duke,  Haidee  will  honor  us  to- 
night, and  repeat  the  breakdown  for  your  benefit.  Pom- 
frey, send  your  cab  home;  you  must  sup  with  us — we 
want  to  hear  the  rustle  of  your  laurels." 

There  was  a  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs,  a  confusion  of 
carriages  drawing  up,  a  woman's  harsh,  vulgar  laugh 
rang  out  above  the  rest  and  then  they  were  gone. 

Suddenly,  while  the  girl's  eyes  were  strained  after 
them,  one  of  the  carriages  stopped  and  Mr.  Jasper  Ver- 
mont jumped  out  and  hastened  back  to  the  theatre. 

Reah  waited  for  him  to  re-emerge,  which,  after  a  few 
minutes,  he  did,  bearing  a  small  roll  in  his  hand,  and  so 
quietly  that  Reah  did  not  hear  him  and  stood  right  in  his 
path. 

With  an  oath  he  nearly  stumbled  over  her — for  he  was 
looking  at  the  papers — then  pushing  her  aside  roughly 
with  his  soft  hand,  said  harshly : 

"Get  out  of  the  way,  girl.    I  have  nothing  for  you." 

A*>d  he  hurried  oa 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  ReaV's  face  whitened,  and 
she  drew  back  trembling  and  shaking. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  135 

So  great  an  effect  did  it  have  upon  her  that  she  re- 
mained gazing  after  him  long  after  the  carriage  had 
rolled  from  sight. 

Then  with  a  shudder  she  drew  her  shawl  around  her 
and  moved  away. 

Before  she  had  proceeded  three  steps  her  foot  struck 
against  something  light  and  white. 

She  stooped,  and  picked  up  a  small  roll  of  paper,  and 
carrying  it  to  the  gas  lamp  saw  that  it  was  a  portion  of 
the  roll  which  the  gentleman  had  been  looking  at. 

She  could  not  read,  so  after  a  moment's  glance  of 
curiosity,  she  slipped  it  in  her  bosom  and  walked  dream- 
ily on. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  JEALOUS  WOMAN. 

If  all  the  world  be  worth  the  winning, 
Think,  oh,  think  it  worth  enjoying. 

"Is  it  a  Rubens  or  is  it  not?  that  is  the  question/' 
drawled  Mr.  Paxhorn,  dropping  his  eyeglass  and  turning 
from  a  long  survey  of  a  picture  which  had  been  hung  in 
the  Lady  Merivale's  drawing-room,  and  was  now  being 
inspected  and  criticised  by  a  select  group  of  connoisseurs, 
to  wit,  Mr.  Paxhorn,  who  was  an  authority  upon  all  mat- 
ters of  art,  and  whose  word  went  for  a  great  deal,  per- 
haps more  than  it  was  worth ;  two  or  three  artists ;  Lord 
Merivale  himself,  who  knew  nothing  about  his  last  pur- 
chase, save  that  it  was  rather  worn  and  dirty  looking, 
and  that  on  the  whole  he  should  consider  it  dear,  if  he 
spoke  his  mind  freely,  at  a  five-pound  note ;  the  Marquis 
of  Standon  and  Pomfrey. 

"Yes,  that  is  the  question,"  repeated  the  marquis;  "a 
splendid  face.  I  should  vote  it  genuine." 

"It's  extremely  dirty  and — and  worn  out,  isn't  it  ?"  sug- 
gested Lord  Merivale,  covering  a  yawn,  and  wondering 
what  on  earth  it  mattered  if  the  old  thing  were  painted  by 
Rubens  or  any  other  brother  of  the  brush. 

"Heathen !"  exclaimed  his  beautiful  wife,  tapping  him 
with  her  fan — it  was  nearing  midsummer  and  London  was 
hot — "you  are  incorrigible.  Dirty !  why,  that  is  tone." 

"Ah,  no  doubt,"  said  the  earl,  turning  away  and  gazing 
up  at  a  bull  by  Potter;  "I  don't  know  anything  about  it, 
I  admit." 

"I  tell  you  who  could  pronounce,"  said  Pomfrey. 

"Who?"  asked  the  marquis. 

"Adrien  Leroy,"  replied  Pomfrey.  "He  is  an  artist, 
you  know — for  perhaps  you  don't  know,  for  he  keeps  all 
his  talents  as  secret  as  if  they  were  crimes." 

"A  modesty    quite   unfashionable,"   murmured    Lady 


Staunch  of  Hewt.  137 

Merivale,  whose  face  had  flushed  the  slightest  in  the 
world  at  the  sudden  mention  of  Adrien's  name. 

"Yes,"  assented  Pomfrey.  "Men  proclaim  their  gifts 
in  the  market  place  pretty  loudly  nowadays." 

"And  so  Mr.  Leroy  is  a  painter  ?  I  did  not  know  that," 
remarked  one  of  the  artists. 

"Oh,  Adrien  is  something  of  everything ;  but,  as  I  said, 
you  would  never  guess  it.  He  is  in  town  to-day." 

"I  saw  him  in  the  park  with  Jasper  Vermont,"  said  the 
marquis. 

"Ah,  there  is  another  genius.  Now,  Lady  Merivale,  if 
you  wish  the  genuineness  of  your  picture  authenticated 
send  for  Jasper  Vermont ;  he  will  soon  settle  the  question, 
or  any  other  you  may  put  to  him." 

"Not  always  right,"  remarked  Merivale,  turning  to  the 
group.  "He  pronounced  for  that  horse  of  Leroy's,  King 
Cole,  and  his  majesty  did  not  win,  did  he?" 

"No,  I  know  it  to  my  cost,"  said  Standon,  shrugging 
his  shoulders  with  a  smile.  "I  had  laid  a  lot  on,  more 
than  I  generally  risk.  You  see,  Jasper  is  a  good  judge, 
and  really  I  believe  the  horse  would  have  won,  after  all, 
but  for  Adrien's  ill-timed  generosity." 

"What  was  that?"  asked  the  countess,  languidly. 

"Oh,  he  gave  the  jockey  a  ten-pound  note  the  night  be- 
fore the  race,  and  of  course  the  fellow  got  drunk  and 
choked  the  King  at  the  last  hurdle." 

"And  the  jockey  was  killed,  was  he  not?"  asked  the 
artist 

The  marquis  nodded. 

"Yes ;  strange  thing  rather,  but  while  we  were  crowd- 
ing around  to  help  him  he  went  off  his  head  and  raved  at 
Jasper  Vermont." 

The  countess  turned  her  queenly  head  rather  sharply. 

"How  do  you  mean  ?"  she  said. 

"Accused  him  of  something  or  other,"  drawled  the  mar- 
quis, "nobody  knows  what.  Something  melodramatic. 
Of  course  it  was  only  delirious  nonsense — the  poor  fellow 
was  quite  off  his  head,  though  I  think  the  baron  took  it  in 
serious  part  and  half  suspected " 

"What?"  asked  the  countess  as  he  stopped. 


138  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Well,  I  don't  know ;  you  see  it  was  so  obscure.  Why 
should  Jasper  Vermont  sell  the  race?" 

"Why,  indeed  ?"  repeated  Pomf rey,  "considering  he  had 
laid  a  thousand  pounds  on  him,  and  that  is  a  great  deal  for 
him,  you  know." 

"How  do  you  know  he  backed  Ad — Mr.  Leroy's 
horse?"  asked  the  countess,  quietly.  "Did  he  tell  you  so?" 

"No;  I  saw  the  bet  made  on  the  course." 

"With  whom?"  asked  the  countess,  still  quietly,  but 
seemingly  unassured. 

"With  a  little  Yorkshireman ;  the  fellow  who  entered 
that  rough-legged  creature,  which  he  withdrew  before  the 
start.  You  saw  him,  Pomf  rey?" 

"I  know,"  said  Pomfrey,  "and  a  pretty  haul  that  little 
Yorkshireman  must  have  made,  for  Leroy  took  a  very 
heavy  offer  of  his,  and  what  with  Jasper's  thousand  it 
must  have  been  a  hatful." 

The  countess  sighed,  satisfied  at  last. 

"You  seem  quite  grieved — not  on  your  own  account, 
Eveline,  I  hope !"  laughed  her  husband. 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  window  with  a  sweet  laugh. 

"No;  I  lost  a  dozen  of  Jouvin's,  that  was  all.  I  am 
quite  disinterested,"  she  said,  but  a  vision  of  a  check  she 
had  drawn  for  five  hundred  pounds  arose  before  her  as 
she  spoke  and  made  her  bitter. 

"Oh,  a  dozen  of  gloves  will  not  settle  Leroy's  little 
book,  I  am  afraid,"  said  the  earl,  carelessly. 

He  shared  the  general  opinion  that  the  Leroy  coffers 
Were  bottomless  and  their  resources  unfailing. 

Her  ladyship  arose  rather  languidly,  as  if  weary  of  the 
subject,  and  the  visitors,  taking  the  movement  as  a  sig- 
nal for  their  departure,  gathered  from  the  various  parti 
of  the  drawing-room  to  say  farewell. 

But  while  the  marquis  was  receiving  the  dainty  hand 
a  noiseless  footman  threw  open  the  door  and  announced 
Mr.  Leroy. 

Lady  Eveline's  eyes  just  flashed  for  a  moment,  then 
sank  into  their  usual  imperial  calm  as  he  came  forward 
and  bent  over  her  hand. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  are  come,  Mr.  Leroy,"  she  said,  "you 
can  settle  a  knotty  question  for  us.  There  is  my  last  ac- 


Staunch  of  Heart.  139 

quisition.  Now  have  I  been  swindled  or  not?  Is  it  a 
.Rubens?" 

Adrien  nodded  with  a  smile  to  the  two  artists,  with 
whom  he  had  been  shaking  hands. 

"You  ask  me  while  such  judges  are  near?  Cannot  you 
decide,  Alford?  nor  you,  Colman?" 

"Well,  I  say  it  is,"  said  the  first. 

"And  I  think  that  it  is  not,"  laughed  the  second,  and 
together  they  commenced  a  long,  detailed  criticism. 

As  they  talked  Adrien's  downcast  face  was  shadowed 
by  that  inevitable  look  of  weariness,  and  with  a  smothered 
sigh,  which  did  not  escape  Lady  Eveline,  he  came  closer 
to  the  picture  and  said,  quietly : 

"Where  two  such  lights  cannot  discover  the  truth  who 
may?  I  agree  with  you,  Alford,  and  so  I  do  with  you, 
Colman.  A  paradox,  if  you  like.  But  both  your  argu- 
ments are  so  convincing  that  if  Rubens  painted  it  and 
were  present  to  hear  you,  Colman,  he'd  be  persuaded  he 
didn't ;  and  if  he  had  not  painted  it  you  could  almost  con- 
vince him,  Alford,  that  he  had." 

There  was  a  general  smile  at  the  artists'  expense.  The 
earl  laughed  aloud,  and  in  an  extremely  audible  whisper 
exclaimed : 

"What  a  fellow  he  is !  Pity  he  isn't  poor ;  they'd  gain 
something  at  the  bar." 

"Rubens'  touch,"  he  said,  examining  the  face,  "and — 
what. is  this?"  and  he  pointed  to  a  small  weapon  thrust 
into  the  girdle  of  the  figure. 

"That  is  a  dagger,"  said  Alford.  "Here — where  are 
the  glasses?" 

"Thanks,"  said  Adrien.  "It  is  a  dagger,  and  a  Floren- 
tine one.  Ah,  Lady  Merivale,  I  am  afraid  your  last  ac- 
quisition is  rather  a  remarkable  specimen  of  what  a 
modern  impostor  can  rise  to  than  an  example  of  an  old 
master.  That  dagger  is  of  comparatively  modern  fashion, 
certainly  not  earlier  than  the  eighteenth  century.  Rubens 
died  in  1640." 

The  two  artists  stared,  as  well  they  might,  but  were  not 
sufficiently  acquainted  with  Leroy  to  express  their  sur- 
prise at  his  antiquarian  knowledge. 

The  marquis  was  not  so  reticent. 


140  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"By  Jove!'*  he  exclaimed,  "who  would  feave  thought 
you  were  up  in  dates,  Adrien  ?  You  will  astonish  some  of 
us  one  of  these  days,  I  do  believe.  Give  a  lecture  at  the 

Polytechnic " 

"On  the  vanity  of  human  life  and  the  folly  of  wisdom  ?" 
said  Adrien,  sinking  into  a  chair  and  looking  at  the 
picture. 

"Eh — what's  that?"  said  a  voice,  which  proved  to  be- 
long to  Mr.  Vermont,  who  had  spoken  before  the  foot- 
man could  announce  him. 

"Folly  of  wisdom,  Lady  Merivale!"  he  continued,  as 
the  countess  gave  him  her  hand,  with  a  smile.  "That's 
like  Leroy;  he  is  always  crying  over  the  vanities  of  the 
world,  while  some  of  us  poor  fellows,  myself  for  in- 
stance, are  a*  constantly  crying  for  them.*' 

The  earl  laughed. 

"Do  you  kn<»w,  Mr.  Vermont,  you  remind  me  of  the 
clown  in  the  pantomime,"  he  said,  in  his  outspoken  and 
simple  manner. 

"Indeed,  my  Lcud;  an  innocent  reminiscence,  at  least, 
and  that's  saying  a  great  deal,"  retorted  Mr.  Jasper,  who 
never  stayed  his  tongue  in  the  matter  of  a  repartee  for 
lord  or  commoner.  **May  I  ask  why  ?" 

"You  always  ente*  a  room  with  an  epigram,  as  the 
clown  appears  on  the  stage  with  a  bound  or  a  joke." 

Mr.  Jasper  bowed,  with  an  amiable  smile  tipon  his 
close-shaven  face. 

"My  lord,  that  is  a  high  compliment,"  he  said.  "The 
highest  vocation  a  man  can  have  is  the  amusement  of  his 
fellowmen;  and  yet  one  higher  perhaps  is  a  doctor's." 

"A  doctor's?"  repeated  several.    "Why  a  doctor's?" 

"The  man  who  amuses  you,"  replied  Mr.  Jasper,  slowly, 
looking  at  the  picture  as  he  spoke,  "makes  life  pleasant 
and  so  does  you  a  service,  but  the  doctor  makes  life 
shorter,  and  so  confers  a  greater.'* 

"That's  good,"  said  the  earl,  turning  away  with  his 
hearty  laugh,  adding,  with  half  contemptuous  good- 
nature, "an  amusing  dog." 

"A  new  picture,  which  means  a  very  old  one,"  said 
Jasper,  seating  himself.  "For  it  is  the  fashion  to  sneer 
at  modern  ones.  Nothing  but  canvas  cracked  like  a  blis- 


Staunch  of  Heart.  141 

tered  doorpost  and  brown  as  a  red  herring — a  member 
of  the  pisces  species  with  which  you  are  utterly  unac- 
quainted, Lady  Merivale — are  looked  at  by  your  collector. 
For  my  part,  art  is  nothing  if  it  is  not  pleasing,  and  for 
the  life  of  me  I  can't  fall  in  love  with  a  snub-nosed  Marie 
of  Dolci,  or  fall  into  raptures  over  a  muscular  apostle  by 
Michael  Angelo.  What  is  this?  Portrait  of  a  gentleman 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  Hem!  Very  valuable,  I  dare 
say,  Lady  Merivale?" 

The  countess,  who  allowed  herself  to  be  amused  by 
Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  as  she  would  by  a  pet  monkey  or  an 
eccentric  dog,  smiled  indifferently. 

"That  is  as  one  may  take  it.  I  have  paid  three  hundred 
pounds  for  it." 

Mr.  Jasper  looked  up  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes 
with  what  might  have  passed  as  a  look  of  innocent  sur- 
prise, but  what  a  keen  observer  might  have  been  tempted 
to  describe  as  a  twinkle  of  satiric  enjoyment. 

"Three  hundred  pounds !  And  I  dare  say  these  gentle- 
men, all  good  judges,  have  declared  it  a  wondrous  bar- 
gain?" 

And  he  motioned  with  his  fat  forefinger  at  the  group 
composed  of  the  marquis,  the  two  artists  and  Adrien 
Leroy. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  countess,  quietly.  "Mr.  Leroy  de- 
clares it  an  imposture." 

Jasper  looked  up  with  what  might  have  been  another 
smile  of  surprise,  but  for  a  dash  of  angry  impatience  in 
the  light  of  his  gray  eyes. 

"Oh,  he  disagrees  with  the  general  verdict.  Adrien  is 
always  singular ;  and  how  has  he  detected  the  fraud  ?" 

"By  the  only  weak  point,"  said  Colman,  coming  up. 
"That  dagger ;  Rubens  never  saw  such  a  dagger  as  that, 
so  could  not  have  painted  it." 

Mr.  Jasper  smiled  a  long-prolonged  smile,  that  seemed 
to  mock  the  picture  as  if  it  were  a  living  thing. 

"Capital !"  he  said.  "The  rogue  who  palmed  the  little 
imposition  upon  you  was  not  an  antiquarian;  poor  fel- 
low, how  should  he  have  guessed  that  one  of  his  critics 
should  be  so  clever?  Ah,  ha !  and  so  you  send  the  picture 
back  and  threaten  the  painter  with  the  stocks  and  all 


142  Staunch  of  Heart. 

sorts  of  pains  and  penalties  for  passing  his  own  rubbish 
oil  as  the  rubbish  of  Rubens  ?" 

The  earl  smiled. 

"Scarcely,"  he  said.  "I  wrote  the  check  last  night ;  by 
this  time  it  is  cashed,  so  that  the  swindle  is  thoroughly 
accomplished." 

Mr.  Jasper  arose  with  a  smile  that  was  genuine,  if  any 
he  ever  wore  were. 

"Well,  don't  you  think  the  fellow  deserves  his  spoil, 
my  lord?  It  is  a  clever  piece  of  counterfeit  to  deceive 
such  great  lights.  And  now,  Lady  Merivale,  let  me  dis- 
charge the  object  of  my  visit,  and  so  earn  your  pardon 
for  my  intrusion. 

"Grisi  sings  tomorrow  at  the  duke's,"  he  added,  seat- 
ing himself  near  Lady  Eveline,  and  speaking  in  an  un- 
dertone. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.  "How  good  of  you  to  find  out 
for  me!  It  was  kept  such  a  secret.  How  did  you  dis- 
cover it  ?" 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  elevating  his  eyebrows.  "If  I 
tell  you  that  it  would  be  bad  policy.  I  may  have  dis- 
covered it  so  easily  that  my  services  as  solver  of  mysteries 
would  sink  to  insignificance,  and  Lady  Merivale  would 
think  lightly  of  that  very  piece  of  conjuring  which  she 
now  so  marvels  at.  But  no  matter  how.  Little  birds 
whisper  to  Jasper  Vermont  as  he  walks  in  the  park,  or 
mystic  visitants  from  the  other  regions  float  at  his  side  as 
potent  familiars ;  no  matter,  Grisi  sings,  and  so  it  will  be 
worth  while  your  ladyship's  acceptance.  She  always  sings 
better  in  private  than  public,  you  know." 

He  arose,  hat  in  hand. 

"And  now  I  am  off  on  another  mission.  My  Croesus 
has  a  fresh  whim,  if  one  dare  call  his  serene  highness" 
desires  by  such  a  light  name.  What  think  you  is  his  last 
desire  ?" 

"That  is  beyond  the  pale  of  conjecture,"  said  Lady  Eve- 
line, glancing  under  her  lids  at  Adrien,  where  he  stood 
still  talking,  or  rather  listening. 

"What  say  you,  my  lady,  to  a  summer  palace  on  the 
banks  of  the  Arno?" 


Staunch  of  Heart.  143 

"And  already  one  on  the  Bosphorus,"  said  Lady 
Merivale. 

"Of  which,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  "he  is  quite  weary.  Oh, 
Lady  Merivale,  Croesus  need  well  be  rich  with  such  a 
restless  disposition.  The  world  is  not  large  enough  for 
him;  he  is  like  the  mouse  that  turns  the  wheel  in  his 
pretty  cage — always  going  up  and  round  and  round,  but 
never  getting  any  higher  or  any  farther.  Tomorrow  we 
meet  at  Philippi,  then.  Are  there  any  other  commands?" 

"None,"  said  Lady  Eveline,  smiling.  "Good-by." 

And  Mr.  Jasper,  after  lingering  to  fire  another  epi- 
gram, softly  and  amiably  departed. 

One  by  one  the  others  followed  until  Adrien  Leroy  re- 
mained alone  with  the  countess,  then  all  Lady  Eveline's 
assumed  calm  melted,  and  her  face  flushed  with  a  rich 
crimson,  as  she  turned  to  him  with  outstretched  hands, 
grandly  reproachful. 

"You  have  not  quite  forgotten  me,  then!" 

"Forgotten  you,  Eveline!"  he  said,  taking  one  of  the 
outstretched  hands  and  raising  it  to  his  lips,  perhaps  to 
hide  the  sigh  of  weariness.  "That  were  impossible.  Do 
not  reproach  me  for  an  absence  which  was  unavoidable. 
I  am  the  hardest  worked  man  in  London,  I  really  believe : 
not  an  hour  seems  my  own,  and  if  it  be,  you  know  that  I 
would  spend  it  with  you." 

"You  have  been  to  Barminster  again,"  said  the  beauti- 
ful woman,  turning  her  face  from  him  and  biting  her  lip 
with  jealousy.  "Is  it  true,  Adrien?" 

"Is  what  true?"  he  asked,  flinging  himself  upon  the 
couch  and  preparing  himself  to  bear  what  he  detested — a 
scene  of  mock  love  and  self-tormenting  jealousy  on  the 
part  of  his  beautiful  companion.  "I  am  almost  tempted  to 
reply  'No'  without  asking  you  to  specify.  So  few  things 
are  true  on  this  earth.  But  of  what  do  you  ask,  Eveline  ?" 

"This  rumor  one  hears  from  all  sides." 

"What  rumor?"  he  asked,  languidly. 

"That  you  will  marry  Lady  Constance  Tremaine." 

He  stroked  his  mustache  and  looked  at  her  so  long  and 
dreamily  that  she  was  almost  inclined  to  think  he  had  for- 
gotten her  question  and  her  presence. 

"Silence  is  an  affirmative  in  such  a  question,"  she  said, 


<>'44  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

fanning  herself  slowly,  but  with  a  restless  flash  of  the 
«ye  that  told  of  inward  excitement. 

"Not  always,"  he  replied,  rising.  "I  was  silent  because 
.¥  could  not  answer  your  question,  my  dear  Eveline,  At 
this  moment  I  know  not  if  I  shall  marry  Lady  Constance 
or  not,  but — give  me  your  hand — you  know  how  distaste- 
ful such  a  question  must  be,  my  fair  queen ;  but  if  I  think 
of  doing  so  rest  assured  you  shall  be  the  first  to  hear  of  it. 
Never  doubt  the  fidelity  of  your  slave,  carissima.  A 
Leroy  is  never  false — though  very  often  a  slave  to  folly 
as  well  as  love." 

There  was  no  resisting  the  soft  tone,  the  gentle  caress 
of  his  white  strong  hand,  and  the  countess  allowed  her- 
self to  be  pacified  and  conciliated. 

"And  now  you  will  go,  I  suppose?"  she  murmured, 
bending  toward  him  and  turning  the  rings  on  IMS  finger 
pensively.  "Go  and  forget  me." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  will  do  no  such  thing,"  lie  said. 
"You  shall  make  yourself  comfortable  in  this  nest  of 
cushions  by  the  veranda  and  I,  at  your  feet,  will  *ead — 
what?  Something  of  Tennyson's,  soft  and  dtilcet,  or  a 
smooth  flowing  lyric  of  Barrett  Browning's?  Where 
are  the  books?  There?" 

And,  with  a  graceful  and  indolent  smile  so  full  of  that 
mystic  charm  which  threw  a  glamour  over  his  lightest 
speech  and  most  ordinary  movement,  he  arranged  the 
silken  cushions  around  her,  reached  a  book  from  the  in- 
laid shelf,  and,  making  himself  also  comfortable,  read 
aloud  in  a  low,  clear  tone  some  love  lyric,  as  unreal  but 
pretty  as  the  love  at  which  they  were  playing  themselves. 

The  regular,  musical  tones  of  his  voice  lulled  the  beau- 
tiful countess  to  a  dreamful  slumber,  and,  looking  up,  he 
smiled  as  he  saw  her  closed  eyelids,  dropped  the  book 
on  the  cushions  before  him,  looking  out  on  the  park  with 
a  mournful  gaze. 

Presently  the  countess  awoke,  started  slightly,  and 
with  some  slight  shadow  of  embarrassment,  said: 

"You  have  stopped ;  you  are  tired ;  how  cruel  of  me  to 
let  you  read  in  this  heat,  and  how  good  of  you,  Adrien, 
to  do  it!" 

"You  are  tired,  not  I,"  he  said.  "Have  you  been  asleep, 


Staunch  of  Heart.  145 

my  queen?  I  am  amply  repaid  if  I  have  given  those 
bright  eyes  rest.  Five  o'clock !  The  time  goes  with  swift 
wings  in  the  court  of  love !  I  must  say  adieu,  for  I  dine 
early  to-night" 

"Where  are  you  going  then?"  she  asked. 

"To  the  theatre,"  he  said.  "There  is  a  supper  which  I 
have  promised  the  duke." 

"Good-by,  then,"  she  sighed.  "Ah!  how  I  envy  every 
one  else  who  sees  more  of  you  than  I  do,  Adrien!" 

"My  thoughts  are  with  you  often,  fair  queen,  though 
this  poor  body  is  elsewhere.  Farewell ;"  and  with  another 
caress  of  the  soft  and  jeweled  hand,  he  left  the  room, 
stopping  in  the  marble-walled  corridor  to  adjust  a  flower 
she  had  placed  in  his  coat,  and  muttering,  as  he  did  so, 
"Hothouse  flowers,  as  frail  as  hothouse  love.  Would  that 
she  gave  them  to  some  one  less  weary  of  both." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"WHERE  is  SHE?" 

How  absolute  the  knave  is!     We  must  speak 
By  the  card,  or  equivocation  will  undo  us. 

SHAKESPEARE. 

Adrian  Leroy  dined  alone  that  evening,  a  most  unusual 
solitude  for  him,  and  Norgate,  behind  his  chair,  noticed 
how  thoughtful  and  languid  his  master  seemed. 

"Getting  tired  of  London,"  thought  the  astute  servant. 
"We  shall  be  off  to  the  Spas,  or  the  Bosphorus.  Strange 
how  these  gentlemen  get  knocked  up  with  enjoyment. 
He  looks  as  tired  of  it  as  a  dancing  monkey  might.  The 
claret,  sir?  yes." 

The  dinner  over  Adrien  lay  on  the  soft,  low  couch  in 
his  small  but  elegant  divan,  and  smoked  a  cigar  in  pro- 
found meditation,  or  sleep,  for  his  eyes  were  closed  and 
every  limb  was  motionless. 

Unlike  most  votaries  of  pleasure,  he  was  far  from  un- 
happy when  alone,  and  could  find  a  charm  in  solitude 
which  other  men  when  so  steeped  in  the  delights  of  lux- 
urious life  might  have  sought  for  in  vain. 

Thrown  on  his  resources,  Adrien  Leroy  could  call 
up  a  rich  flood  of  memories  stored  up  by  study  and  a  not 
inconsiderable  course  of  reading.  His  was  a  powerful, 
highly-cultivated  mind  that  lay  fallow  and  seldom  used. 

Grand  ideas,  poetic  fancies,  artistic  and  ambitious 
dreams  were  there,  asleep  and  dormant.  Of  what  use 
were  they  to  the  heir  of  Barminster,  to  the  monarch  of 
fashion  for  whom  the  world  strove  hard  to  supply  daily 
the  preventives  to  thought? 

Had  he  been  a  poorer,  an  unknown  man,  he  might  have 
arisen  to  a  fame  eclipsing  that  of  the  world's  greatest 
names;  but  lapped  in  luxury  and  lulled  by  dulcet  strains 
of  fashionable  homage,  he  lay  supine  and  quiescent,  dis- 
satisfied, but  apathetic. 

The  clock  striking  seven  aroused  him  from  his  reverie, 

au 


Staunch  of  Heart.  147 

and  telling  Norgate  not  to  sit  up  for  him,  he  set  off  for 
the  "Casket,"  dismissing  the  brougham  and  deciding  to 
walk  through  the  park. 

It  wlas  a  beautiful  evening,  the  park,  growing  cool  and 
quiet,  was  inviting  and  refreshing. 

Some  of  the  by-walks  were  empty,  and  tempted  by  one 
of  them  Adrien  Leroy  left  the  broad  walk  and  turned 
aside. 

It  was  a  shady  nook,  in  which  the  kind  authorities  had 
caused  a  seat  to  be  erected. 

"Half-past  seven,"  he  mused.  "It  will  be  hot  in  the 
theater,  and  I  am  out  of  humor.  A  cigar  out  here  will 
set  me  right  and  brace  me  up  for  the  wits  and  Haidee's 
vulgarity.  I'll  have  it." 

So  saying  he  extended  himself  full  length  on  the  hard 
seat,  lit  a  cigar,  and  fell  to  a  reverie. 

An  hour  passed,  perhaps  two — dreaming  indolently, 
he  had  lost  count  of  the  time,  forgotten  the  theater 
in  the  pleasant  quietude  of  the  spot. 

His  cigar  was  smoked  to  an  inch,  the  closing  time  was 
past,  and  with  a  sigh  he  arose  to  exchange  the  hard  seat 
for  a  lounge  at  the  side  wings  of  his  theater  among  the 
crowd  of  ballet  girls  and  the  gas  jets. 

As  he  picked  up  his  stick,  which  had  fallen  to  the 
ground,  he  heard  a  footstep  behind  him,  and  turning,  saw 
an  ill-dressed,  scowling-looking  man  approaching  him. 

Something  about  the  stout,  shambling  figure  or  the 
dirty,  evil-browed  face  seemed  familiar  to  him,  and,  with 
the  stick  in  his  hand,  he  stood  regarding  it  for  a  moment. 

To  his  surprise  the  man  stopped  when  he  reached  him, 
and  nodding  with  a  sulky  frown,  said,  in  a  thick,  sullen 
voice : 

"Good-evening.     Don't  remember  me  it  seems?" 

"I  do  not,"  said  Adrien  Leroy,  quietly  scanning  the 
bleared,  swollen  face,  and  thinking  the  man  intoxicated. 

"Ah,  you  swells  'as  bad  memories ;  I  remember  you  well 
enough;  rum  now,  ain't  it?" 

"Possibly,"  he  said,  buttoning  his  glove.  "Do  you  want 
anything  of  me,  my  friend?" 

"That  depends,"  responded  the  man,  moving  forward 
as  he  spoke  so  that  he  stood  right  in  Adrien's  path. 
"You're  Mr.  Leroy,  ain't  you?" 


148  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"1  am,"  said  Adrian,  half  amused,  impertinence  was  too 
straage  to  him  to  offend  him. 

•'Mr.  Hadrien  Leroy,  that  lives  in  Crown  Chambers?" 

Adrien  nodded. 

"You  are  quite  correct,  my  good  fellow,"  he  said.  "And 
now,  having  satisfied  your  curiosity,  have  the  good- 
ness to  step  aside  and  let  me  pass." 

"Wait  a  minute,  guv'nor,"  said  the  man,  half  respect- 
fully, "I  wants  to  ask  you  a  question  or  two.  You're  a 
gentleman — so  they  say,  and  p'raps  you'll  answer  'em 
as  a  gentleman  should." 

"Be  quick,  then,"  said  Adrien,  quietly. 

"You  don't  remember  me,  you  says;  p'raps  you'll  re- 
member my  name.  My  name  is  Wilfer — Johann  Wilfer." 

"Johann  Wilfer,"  repeated  Adrien,  thoughtfully  and 
slowly,  wondering  where  he  had  heard  the  name  before. 

"Yes,  Johann  Wilfer,  picture  restorer,  Cracknell  Court, 
Sohb." 

"Oh !"  said  Adrien,  "I  remember  you.  Well,  what  do 
you  wish  to  know  ?  First,  please,  howtever,  let  me  ask  you 
a  question.  Has  the  girl  Reah  returned  to  you  yet?" 

"Oh!  that's  it!  Nothing  like  getting  the  first  word. 
That's  just  you  swells  with  a  poor  man.  Has  she  returned 
to  me?  No,  o'  course  she  hasn't,  and  you  know  it.  She 
won't  return  to  me,  I  reckon,  until  you've  done  with  her." 

Adrien  leaned  up  against  the  railing,  and  looked  at  the 
man  gravely  and  thoughtfully. 

He  was  wondering  what  had  become  of  the  girl,  with 
her  dark  eyes  and  silken  hair. 

Alas,  what  could  have  become  of  her  but  one  dark  fate, 
if  she  had  not  returned  to  this  man — her  guardian  ? 

"She  ain't  returned  to  me,  and  you  know  it,"  con- 
cluded Mr.  Wilfer,  eyeing  the  calm,  patrician  face  evilly. 
"And  my  question  is,  where  is  she,  and  what  have  you 
done  with  her?" 

"And  I  answer  you  that  I  do  not  know  where  she  is, 
and  that  I  have  done  nothing  with'  her,  my  friend,"  re- 
plied Adrien. 

"That's  false,"  said  the  man,  with  a  sneer. 

Adrien  Leroy  looked  down  at  him  with  calm  regard. 

"You  are  impertinent,  my  man,"  he  said,  in  his  clear 
tones.  "Stand  aside  and  let  me  pass." 


Staunch  of  Heart.  149 

Mr.  Wilfer  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  stood 
his  ground  stolidly. 

"Where's  your  hurry?"  he  said,  insolently.  "It  won't 
do  with  me,  Mr.  Leroy,  and  so  I  tell  you.  I  ask  you 
where  my  niece  is,  and,  by  Heaven,  I'll  know,  too." 

"She  was  your  niece,  you  say?"  he  said. 

"She  was,"  said  the  man,  sullenly,  "though  it's  no  busi- 
ness of  yours ;  she  belonged  to  me." 

"I  suppose  so,  or  you  would  not  have  ill  treated  her," 
said  Adrien,  quietly.  "When  did  you  see  her  last?" 

"You  know;  three  months  ago,"  replied  Mr.  Wilfer, 
coarsely.  "She  ran  away  the  mornin'  you  came  after 
her." 

Adrien  flushed  for  a  moment  with  the  desire  to  knock 
the  fellow  down,  but  he  restrained  the  longing  and  said 
instead : 

"You  told  an  untruth  then  when  you  told  me  she  had 
stolen  from  you  and  run  away  three  weeks  before?" 

"Of  course ;  who  wouldn't,  to  save  his  gal  from  such 
as  you?  But  what's  the  use  of  all  this  idle  palaver, 
guv'nor?" 

"One  word  for  all,"  exclaimed  Adrien.  "I  have  never 
seen  the  child  since  the  night  I  took  her  from  the  cold. 
Now  stand  out  of  the  path  or  I  will  do  what  I  should 
have  done  before  this — hand  you  over  to  the  police." 

"So  that's  your  answer,  is  it?"  said  Mr.  Wilfer, 
hoarsely.  "Well,  you're  no  gentleman,  after  all." 

Adrien,  pushed  past  all  endurance,  caught  the  fellow 
by  the  shoulder  and  swung  him  around,  hoping  to  push 
him  aside  without  hurting  him,  for  he  began  to  think 
that  his  suspicions  of  the  man's  intoxication  was  a  correct 
one ;  but  Mr.  Wilfer  was  not  to  be  got  rid  of  thus  easily, 
and  with  a  growl  of  rage  snatched  Adrien's  loose  over- 
coat and  clung  like  a  leech. 

Adrien,  shuddering  at  the  pollution  of  the  man's 
touch,  grasped  him  by  both  arms,  gave  him  a  little  shake, 
then  fairly  lifted  him  from  the  path  and  dropped  him 
over  the  railings. 

Johann  Wilfer  scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  was  about  to 
pursue  Adrien,  when  a  gentleman  crept  out  of  the  shade 
and  prostrated  him  by  a  sudden  blow  on  the  head, 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  RUN  OF  LUCK. 

Oh,  Heaven,  that  such  companions  thou'dst  unfold, 

And  put  in  every  honest  hand  a  whip, 

To  lash  the  rascals  naked  through  the  world. 

SHAKESPEARB. 

Mr.  Johann  Wilfer  glared  vengefully  at  the  smooth, 
serene  face  of  his  assailant,  and  struggling  still,  breathed 
out,  with  an  accompaniment  of  choice  oaths,  the  ques- 
tion: 

"Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  want?" 

"A  question  we  will  waive  for  the  present,  my  good 
friend,"  replied  the  gentleman  above  him.  "Are  you 
going  to  struggle  much  longer  ?  Because  if  so,  I  shall  be 
under  the  necessity  of  quieting  you  by  an  exhibition  of 
force  which  you  will  find  more  surprising  than  pleasant. 
Oh,  you  decide  on  taking  things  quietly,  do  you?  I 
applaud  your  wisdom.  Have  the  goodness  to  arise,  my 
philosopher  footpad,  and  we  will  confer  in  more  con- 
venient attitudes." 

Whereupon  the  gentleman,  who  was  no  other  than  Mr. 
Jasper  Vermont,  released  Mr.  Johann's  throat  from  the 
pressure  of  his  knee  and  allowed  him  to  arise,  which  Mr. 
Johann  Wilfer  did  with  an  extremely  puzzled  and  sullen 
look,  and  having  arisen,  stood  silently  and  evilly  regard- 
ing his  new  acquaintance. 

"Soh!"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  eyeing  him  calmly,  and  pro- 
ceeding while  he  spoke  to  light  a  cigar  and  get  it  into 
full  blast  deliberately.  "Soh !  now  we  are  on  our  feet 
again,  we  look — well,  I  am  bound  to  admit  none  the  less 
ruffianly.  My  friend,  what  is  your  name?" 

Mr.  Johann  Wilfer  tugged  at  his  ragged  neckcloth, 
which,  during  the  struggle,  had  become  inconveniently 
tightened  and  glared  savagely  as  he  replied  insolently: 

"And  what's  that  to  you?" 

150 


Staunch  of  Heart.  151 

"Not  much,"  replied  Mr.  Jasper,  politely.  "A  little 
pardonable  curiosity,  my  friend,  which  I  think  you  will  do 
well  to  satisfy.  I  fancy,  though,  I  have  seen  your  face 
before.  Let  me  think,"  and  he  tapped  his  white,  wrinkle- 
less  forehead  with  a  neatly  gloved  forefinger.  "Were  you 
ever  at  Canterbury,  at  a  little  inn,  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  on  a  July  night  in  18 — ?  On  a  beautiful  moonlight 
night,  my  friend?" 

Mr.  Wilfer  started,  turned  pale,  and  shook  his  head. 

"Never,"  he  said.    "You've  made  a  mistake." 

"I  thought  you  were,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  cheerfully  and 
triumphantly,  as  if  the  man  had  fully  admitted  it.  "You 
don't  tell  an  untruth  well.  If  a  man  can't  do  that  well, 
he  had  always  better  stick  to  the  truth.  At  a  little  inn  in 
Canterbury.  How  strange  we  should  meet  again!  Let 
me  think;  I  seem  to  remember  something  else;  my 
memory  is  particularly  good,  my  friend,  particularly 
good,  I  am  thankful  to  say;  and  if  it  does  not  play 
me  false,  I  think  I  can  remember  that  the  gentleman 
whom  I  had  the  pleasure  to  see  in  such  charming  com- 
pany at  the  inn  in  Canterbury  was  a  sort  of  artist, 
picture  restorer  and  'canvas  humbug,'  as  the  picture 
dealers  call  it;  a  manufacturer  of  pretended  old  masters, 
Raphaels,  Titians,  Rubenses — by  the  way,  I  saw  an  excel- 
lent specimen  of  the  kind  of  thing  today.  A  Rubens,  fig- 
ure of  a  soldier,  which  a  gentleman  sold  to  the  Countess  of 
Merivale  for  three  hundred  pounds.  Genuine,  of  course ! 
oh,  yes,  the  gentleman  gave  a  warranty  with  it,  signed, 
sealed  and  delivered.  I  did  hear  the  gentleman's  name, 
or  did  I  dream  it  ?  Was  it  Wilfer  ?  Johann  Wilfer  ?" 

Mr.  Wilfer  changed  to  a  pretty  olive  green,  and  stared 
harder  than  ever. 

"Who  the  fiend  are  you  ?"  he  commenced ;  but  Mr.  Jas- 
per's smooth  voice  broke  in  and  stopped  him. 

"I  was  right,  I  see !  What  a  strange  coincidence  that 
we  should  meet,  Mr.  Wilfer;  that  I  should  see  your  ad- 
mirable Rubens  in  the  morning,  and  run  against — to  say 
nothing  of  knocking  you  down — the  manufacturer  in  the 
evening." 

"Come,  stow  it,"  snarled  Mr.  Wilfer,  driven  to  despera- 
tion at  last.  "I  don't  know  who  you  are,  and  I  don't  care 


152  Staunch  of  Heart. 

if  you're  the  old  'un  himself;  but  there's  enough  of  this. 
What's  your  game  ?  What's  the  particular  lay  you're  OR 
with  me?  What's  the  move  that  you  should  come  and 
crow  it  over  a  man  like  this  ?  S'pose  you  did  see  me  in  a 
pub  at  Canterbury  along  of  a  young  party ;  s'pose  I  am  an 
artist  and  I  did  sell  an  old  master,  what's  that  to  you? 
What  business  is  it  of  yours  that  you  should  come  inter- 
posing between  two  gentlemen,  and  assaulting  me  in  this 
style?  You  must  be  mad,  guv'nor;  but  mad  or  straight 
you're  on  the  wrong  lay  with  me,  that  I  tell  you  right 
away.  Now  then!" 

"Finished?"  asked  Mr.  Jasper,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 
"An  excellent  piece  of  reasoning,  Mr.  Wilfer,  but  faulty 
in  one  particular !  I  am  not  on  the  wrong  lay,  as  you  in- 
elegantly term  it,  and  it  is  of  some  small  matter  to  me 
that  I  should  meet  you,  and  interfere  with  your  little  busi- 
ness between  gentlemen." 

"Oh,  it  is,  is  it?"  snarled  Mr.  Wilfer.  "Then,"  mock- 
ing the  pleasant  smile  and  the  smooth  voice — "then  you'll 
have  the  goodness  to  keep  the  reasons  to  yourself  and  let 
me  go  on.  I  don't  know,  and  what's  more,  I  don't  want 
to;  but  if  I  do,  mind  you,  it  will  be  to  pay  off  the  score, 
and  if  I  ever  do  that,  I'll  do  it  complete.  Mark  that,  Mr. 
Know  All." 

"Threatening  bodily  harm!"  murmured  Mr.  Jasper, 
sweetly. 

Then,  as  Mr.  Wilfer  essayed  to  push  past  him,  he  took 
his  cigar  from  his  mouth,  blew  a  puff  of  smoke  in  an  irv 
suiting  manner  full  in  the  man's  face,  and  in  a  cool  but 
commanding  tone  said: 

"Stand  back ;  go  and  sit  on  the  bench.  I  haven't  done 
with  you,  Mr.  Wilfer." 

"Suppose  I  say  I  shan't,"  returned  Mr.  Wilfer,  eyeing 
him  savagely. 

"Then,"  said  Jasper,  leaning  against  the  railings,  "I 
call  the  police." 

"Call  'em!"  almost  shouted  Mr.  Wilfer,  with  a  dis- 
cordant laugh.  "That's  a  bogy  for  children !  What's  the 
police  to  me  as  I  should  be  scared  by  'em?" 

"A  great  deal,"  said  Mr.  Jasper.  "For  instance,  say 
that  yo«  are  mad  enough  to  refuse  my  offer  of  a  seat,  I 


Staunch  of  Heart.  153 

call  the  police,  they  arrive,  and  find  me  struggling  with 
a  low-looking  fellow,  with  footpad  on  his  elegant  counte- 
nance— you  compel  me  to  be  personal,  my  friend — whom 
I  instantly  give  in  charge  for  committing  a  highway  rob- 
bery upon  my  friend,  Mr.  Leroy,  who  has  gone  in  search 
of  assistance.  The  footpad  denies  it  vociferously,  but  ap- 
pearances are  against  him,  and  to  make  the  evidence  com- 
plete, I  pick  up  from  the  grass  Mr.  Leroy 's  gold  watch 
and  chain  which  had  fallen  from  the  footpad's  hands." 

And  as  he  spoke  he  stooped  and  picked  up  Adrien's 
watch,  which  had  fallen  from  his  pocket  when  he  flung 
Mr.  Wilfer  aside,  and  which  Mr.  Jasper's  quick  eyes  had 
seen  on  the  grass,  and  he  had  allowed  to  remain  there  till 
he  could  use  the  circumstance  as  now. 

Mr.  Wilfer  eyed  the  watch,  and  the  thickly-meshed  net 
drawn  around  him  and  gave  in. 

"Curse  you !"  he  said.    "You  are  a  knowing  one." 

"Thank  you;  a  genuine,  if  not  graceful  compliment, 
from  a  candid  foe,  is  peculiarly  grateful.  And  now  you 
are  seated,  and  we  may  continue  our  agreeable  conversa- 
tion more  comfortably,  allow  me  to  ask  you  the  nature 
of  your  business  with  my  friend,  Mr.  Leroy." 

The  man  looked  up  at  the  smooth  but  masterful  tor- 
mentor, and  inwardly  acknowledged  the  superiority.  He 
answered  slowly  but  to  the  point: 

"I'm  thinking  you  heard  the  whole  of  the  palaver, 
guv'nor,  so  the  question  ain't  necessary.  But  if  you  wfill 
have  me  tell  you,  why  then  I  was  inquiring  after  a  young 
niece  of  mine,  a  young  girl  your  precious  friend  'as  been 
and  decoyed  from  her  home." 

Mr.  Jasper's  eyes  gleamed,  then  hid  themselves  under 
their  lids. 

"Can  you  prove  that  he  acted  as  you  say?"  he  said 
quietly. 

"I  can,"  replied  Mr.  Wilfer,  doggedly. 

"How?"  asked  Mr.  Jasper.  "Take  a  cigar,"  and  he 
extended  an  elegantly-mounted  cigar  case  to  his  victim. 

Mr.  Wilfer  eyed  the  elaborate  trifle  sullenly  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  he  took  a  cigar  and  bit  its  end  viciously. 

Mr.  Jasper  extracted  a  fusee  from  a  silver  box  and 


154  Staunch  of  Heart. 

threw  it  to  him,  watching  him  light  the  cigar  as  a  jailer 
might  watch  his  prisoner  eating  his  crust  of  bread. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  after  a  pause,  during  which 
Mr.  Wilfer  puffed  at  the  cigar  with  dogged  silence, 
"now,"  he  continued,  "your  address  is  Cracknell  Court, 
Soho— don't  trouble  to  deny  it,  my  friend,  or  make  a 
change  of  residence,  for  though  you  moved  to  the  Arctic 
regions,  I  should  find  you.  I  know  where  to  lay  my  hand 
upon  any  one  I  want — convenient,  is  it  not? — and  I  shall 
in  all  probability  require  you,  Mr.  Wilfer.  When  I  do, 
then  will  be  your  opportunity  for  revenge.  Until  then, 
take  care  of  yourself ;  I  mean  don't  get  into  trouble,  and 
be  more  careful  with  your  sham  Rubens,  written  war- 
ranties are  dangerous  things,  and  this  one  of  yours  which 
I  have  in  my  pocket  is  quite  enough  to  send  you  to  prison 
for  a  pleasant  twelve  months." 

"And  the  girl?"  said  Mr.  Wilfer,  after  a  moment's 
silence.  "What's  to  become  of  her  ?" 

"You  mean  what  is  to  become  of  the  money  you  receive 
for  her  maintenance  ?"  corrected  Mr.  Jasper,  with  a  smile. 
"Well,  we'll  see.  Now,  good-night.  I  have  an  engage- 
ment; and  remember  I  can  lay  my  hand  on  you  when  I 
want  you,  and  wfaen  I  send  for  you  be  careful  that  you 
come  without  the  loss  of  a  moment.  You  have  no  wings, 
or  I  should  require  you  to  fly.  Good-night !" 

With'  that  impressive  farewell,  Mr.  Jasper  turned  on  his 
heel. 

Mr  Wilfer  looked  after  him  in  moody  silence  for  a  few 
moments,  then  departed  likewise. 

"Strange,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  to  his  cigar.  "Strange  how 
things  work  around  for  you,  Jasper,  my  boy!  That 
princely  idiot  plays  into  your  hands  at  every  turn.  What 
luck,  that  of  all  nights  in  the  week  I  should  run  across 
him  here  and  take  it  into  my  head  to  follow  him." 

And  humming  a  few  lines  of  Madam  Haidee's  last  pop- 
ular song,  he  made  his  way  to  the  theater. 

"Good-night,"  said  Adrien,  a  few  hours  afterward  as 
they  stood  before  his  cab.  "What  is  the  time?"  and  he 
felt  for  his  watch. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Jasper,  "mine  has  stopped." 


Staunch  of  Heart.  155 

"Nor  I,"  remarked  Adrien,  quietly.  "For  I  think  I  have 
lost  my  watch." 

"What !"  exclaimed  Jasper.  "That  valuable  repeater  of 
yours?  What  a  pity!" 

"Is  it  not?"  said  Adrien,  thoughtfully.  "I  wonder 

Ah,  I  think  I  lost  it  in  the  park." 

Mr.  Jasper  looked  sympathizingly. 

"What  a  bore !  Well,  it's  a  good  job  a  watch  or  two  to 
the  bad  doesn't  matter  with  you,  my  prince." 

Adrien  smiled ;  then,  ever  thoughtful,  said : 

"By  the  way,  have  you  found  the  papers  Jackson  tells 
me  you  lost  in  the  theatre  the  other  night?" 

"No,"  answered  Mr.  Jasper,  and  a  slight  flush  of  an- 
noyance crossed  his  brow,  "no,  I  have  not.  Jackson  told, 
did  he?  No,  I  dropped  them  somewhere  from  the  green- 
room to  Haidee's  brougham,  and  I  suppose  I  must  look 
upon  them  as  gone  forever." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Adrien. 

"No  consequence,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  as  the  cab*  rattled 
off. 

No  consequence,  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont!  Of  so  much 
consequence  that  you  would  give  a  thousand  pounds  of 
your  dearly  loved  money  this  instant  to  have  those  papers 
safely  clutched  in  your  hand ! 

But  at  present  they  are  lying  on  the  bosom  of  a  wander- 
ing, homeless  girl  and  whither  they  are  drifting  who  shall 
say?  ' 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ALL   BUT    DROWNED. 

The  next  morning  while  Adrien  Leroy  was  standing 
before  his  glass  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  the  toilet 
which  Mr.  Norgate  had  conducted  with  great  care,  and 
thinking  of  the  girl  Reah  and  her  ruffianly  guardian,  a 
servant  appeared  with  a  dainty  little  note  marked  "im- 
mediate." 

The  envelope  bore  no  crest  for  Lady  Eveline  used  none 
in  her  correspondence  with  Adrien  Leroy,  from  pruden- 
tial motives ;  but  Adrien  knew  the  handwriting,  and  set- 
ting down  the  hard  brush,  opened  the  faintly  scented 
missive  and  perused  it. 

"DEAR  ADRIEN  :  I  shall  spend  the  day  with  Aunt  Rose 
at  Hampton.  Will  you  keep  your  promise?" 

"I  will,"  murmured  Adrien,  remembering  that  he  had 
promised  the  beautiful  Eveline  that  on  her  next  visit  to 
the  convenient  Lady  Rose  at  Hampton  Court  he  would 
meet  her  there  and  take  her  in  his  light  pleasure  boat  up 
to  some  of  the  pretty  islands  farther  up  the  river  and 
spend  the  day  in  a  delicious  "dolce  far  niente." 

"Dear  Eveline,"  he  wrote  back  with  his  pencil,  "I  will 
ride  down  to  Hampton  and  keep  the  promise,  which  came 
rather  from  you,  from  whom  my  happiness  springs. 

"ADRIEN." 

Then,  having  dispatched  the  Merivale  servant,  he  went 
into  the  cabinet  to  breakfast,  and  ordered  his  favorite  cob 
to  be  brought  around  in  an  hour. 

It  was  a  splendid  morning,  just  bright  and  hot  enough 
to  make  visions  of  the  cool,  sweet  river  particularly  wel- 
come, and  the  man  of  pleasure  determined  to  cast  off  the 
melancholy  which  had  overshadowed  him  lately,  and  take 
the  day  as  it  came,  happily. 

"I  shall  enjoy  a  row  on  the  river.  Eveline  is  never  so 
happy  as  when  in  the  stern  of  my  skiff,  and  to-day  I  will 

156 


Staunch  of  Heart.  157 

forget — what?  Well,  that  I  am  tired  of  this  artificial 
life  and  its  tinseled  unreality.  Yes,  to-day,  despite  the 
coming  matrimonial  problem  at  Barminster,  despite  the 
harpings  of  my  poor  savage  Haidee,  I  will  be  happy !" 

Alas,  little  did  he  think  that  the  day  shining  so  brightly 
and  invitingly  upon  him  would  prove  the  momentous  one 
of  his  life. 

In  an  hour  the  cob,  all  fire  and  impatience,  was  waiting 
at  the  door,  and  leaving  word  with  the  faithful  Norgate 
that  he  should  not  return  till  evening,  Adrien  leaped 
lightly  into  the  saddle  and  started  for  the  pretty  village 
of  Hampton. 

The  cob  stepped  out  through  the  London  streets  and 
when  he  had  got  clear  of  town  put  on  the  pace  with  such 
a  delight  in  his  forces  that  he  bore  his  handsome  master 
to  the  precincts  of  the  Cardinal  Wolsey's  palace  half  an 
hour  before  Lady  Eveline  would  expect  him. 

So  he  turned  around  and  rode  back  to  the  next  village 
lower  down  the  river  where  his  skiff  was  kept  and  rowed 
up  to  Hampton,  where,  by  the  steps  that  led  to  the  Court 
Lady  Eveline,  exquisitely  dressed  in  a  pale  blue  costume 
of  some  mysterious  gauzy  substance  that  suited  her  deli- 
cate style  of  beauty  admirably,  was  waiting  for  him. 

She  greeted  him  with  a  happy  smile,  and  pressed  his 
white  but  strong  hand  as  he  assisted  her  into  the  boat. 

"And  how  is  Aunt  Rose?"  he  said,  with  a  slight  smile- 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  Lady  Eveline,  returning  the  smile. 
"I  told  her  that  I  should  visit  some  friends  a  little  farther 
onr  and  perhaps  stop  to  dine — so — so — well,  after  a  strug- 
gle I  got  away,  and  here  we  are.  Is  it  not  beautiful? 
And  I  am  so  happy !  How  good  of  you  to  come !" 

Adrien  replied  in  kind,  and  then  sitting  down  to  the 
sculls,  pulled  away  with  the  long,  swinging  strokes 
which  had  gone  so  far  toward  helping  the  crew  of  his 
college  to  win  so  many  well-fought  contests. 

It  was  a  remarkable  fact  about  Adrien  Leroy,  that  al- 
though confessedly  the  most  indolent  man  in  the  always 
indolent  fashionable  world,  he  could  when  he  chose  to  ex- 
ert himself  outdo  most  men  in  all  manly  exercises — row- 
ing, walking,  skating ;  at  all  he  was  a  proficient,  and  ex- 
celled in  that  quiet,  careless  way  which  made  nothing  of 


158  Staunch  of  Heart. 

feats  that  others  would  have  trumpeted  from  east  to  west. 

So  they  started,  and  gloried  in  the  sunshine,  the  glitter 
of  the  water,  and  the  mock  love  which  each  so  admirably 
pretended  to  feel  for  the  other. 

A  few  hours  after  Adrien  had  started,  Mr.  Jasper  as- 
cended the  stairs  to  his  chambers,  and  was  informed  by 
Norgate  that  his  master  was  out  for  the  day. 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  quietly,  inwardly  irritated  that 
his  dupe  should  be  absent  for  a  day  without  telling  him 
his  intention  and  his  whereabouts.  "Oh,  where  has  he 
gone?  He  mentioned  it  last  night,  but  I  have  forgotten," 
he  said,  as  if  trying  to  remember. 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  replied  Norgate.  "Mr.  Adrien  did 
not  leave  word." 

"Ah,  very  well,"  said  Jasper,  indifferently,  "I'll  just  go 
up  and  write  a  letter,  Norgate,  I  think,"  and  he  passed 
into  the  room,  Norgate  closing  the  door  after  him  and 
running  down  the  stairs. 

Mr.  Jasper  waited  until  his  retreating  footsteps  Had 
died  away,  then  with  a  quick  hand  and  a  keen  eye  turned 
over  the  letters  which  lay  where  Adrien  had  carelessly  j 
thrown  them  on  a  small  inlaid  table 

"Hem !"  mused  Mr.  Vermont.  "Not  there.  I  shouldj 
know  her  handwriting  in  a  moment.  I  know  he  has  gone! 
with  her,  for  I  saw  the  brougham  pass.  She  must  have; 
let  him  know  this  morning  and  by  letter.  Can  he  have  got ' 
it  with  him?" 

Muttering  thus  his  eye  caught  a  scrap  of  torn  paper! 
clinging  to  the  steel  bars  of  the  grate. 

In  a  moment  his  fat  hand  had  snatched  it,  and  his  small 
eyes  devoured  it. 

"Ah,"  he  muttered,  with  a  smile.  "Lit  his  cigar  with 
it.  Burned  it  all  save  one  corner  which  is  the  most  im- 
portant part.  Let  me  see — Lady  Rose  has  apartments  at 
Hampton  Court  Palace.  They  have  gone  there,  and  now 
shall  I  follow  them?  Why  should  I?  And  yet,  as  the 
time  draws  near  to  the  grand  coup,  I  will  not  lose  him 
from  my  sight.  I  am  uneasy  if  he  is  not  within  my  reach. 
Yes,  I  will  go  on  his  track.  I  want  a  holiday,  the  knave 
wants  a  holiday  sometimes  as  badly  as  the  idiot,"  and, 


Staunch  of  Heart.  159 

with  a  smooth  laugh,  he  pocketed  the  scrap  of  paper  and 
left  the  room. 

By  noon  Mr.  Jasper  was  at  Hampton,  strolling  along 
the  riverside  and  smoking  a  cigar. 

Very  amiable  he  looked  and  quite  interested  in  the 
boats,  and,  therefore,  the  man  who  let  them  out  on  hire 
very  readily  answered  his  questions  as  to  the  customers, 
the  best  season  of  the  year,  etc.,  all  of  which  tended  to 
the  important  one — had  a  boat  with  a  lady  and  gentle- 
man gone  out  that  day? 

"No,"  the  boatman  said.  "No  boat  had  gone  out  that 
day  with  a  lady  and  gentleman." 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  "I  thought  I  saw  a  gentleman 
rowing  a  lady  down  the  river — rowing  very  well,  too." 

"Ah,"  said  the  man,  "I  know  who  you  mean — a  gentle- 
man, regular  swell,  in  a  light  skiff,  lady  in  blue.  They've 
gone  up  stream." 

This  was  what  Mr.  Jasper  needed,  and  after  a  few  min- 
utes more  of  strolling  about  among  the  boats  he  started 
off  along  the  bank,  keeping  at  such  a  distance  from  the 
stream  that  though  he  could  see  all  who  passed  in  boats, 
no  one  on  the  river  could  see  him. 

The  beauty  of  the  day,  the  shimmer  of  the  silver  river, 
the  caroling  of  the  birds,  had  no  softening  effect  upon 
him.  His  gray,  bird-like  little  eyes  noted  nothing  but  the 
boats  that  passed,  none  of  which  as  yet — though  the  after- 
noon was  failing  fast — contained  Adrien  and  Lady 
Eveline. 

Yet  he  knew  that  he  had  not  missed  them,  for  he  had 
taken  his  luncheon  in  the  balcony  of  an  inn  overlooking 
the  river,  which  he  had  not  lost  sight  of  since  he  had  left 
Hampton. 

Walking  thus  he  reached  the  small  village  of  Wey- 
bridge. 

Very  small  it  was,  consisting  of  an  inn,  a  small 
house,  half  cottage,  half  and  half  shop,  and  a  few  cot- 
tages where  the  bargemen  lived  when  they  were  at  home, 
which  was  exceedingly  seldom. 

In  that  little  shop-parlor,  as  Mr.  Jasper  approached  the 
village,  sat  a  little  woman  and  her  husband  at  their  five- 
o'clock  tea. 


160  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"John  Ashford,  grocer,"  was  the  legend  over  the  shop 
door,  and  these  were  John  Ashford  and  his  "good  little 
wife,"  as  he  called  her,  Lucy  Ashford. 

They  had  two  children,  who  were  playing  by  the  side  of 
the  river,  and  were  doing  very  comfortably,  as  their  neigh- 
bors, the  bargemen's  wives,  expressed  it. 

The  man's  face  was  a  good-humored,  honest,  everyday 
one,  his  wife's  was  not  so  ordinary,  for  in  her  eyes  and 
along  the  corners  of  her  rather  weak-looking  mouth  was 
a  shadow  of  fear  and  timidity. 

Even  now,  as  she  sat  pouring  out  her  husband's  tea, 
the  slight  restlessness  of  her  unoccupied  hand  upon  the 
table  discovered  the  peculiar  trait  in  her  character,  and  at 
times  it  was  more  marked  still  by  a  start  at  some  sudden 
noise,  or  a  cry  of  alarm  if  a  customer  chanced  to  knock 
the  counter  more  loudly  than  usual. 

She  could  see  her  little  ones  from  the  window  of  the 
room,  and  once  or  twice  she  smiled  gently  as  they  turned 
in  their  playing  with  a  girl  who  sat  beside  them  to  make 
gestures  of  affection  to  their  little  mother. 

"Well,"  said  John,  "how's  the  girl  getting  on,  Lucy? 
Got  the  better  of  that  shyness,  ain't  she  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  his  wife,  with  a  sigh.  "Poor  girl.  T  think 
she  must  have  suffered  a  great  deal  for  one  so  young. 
Suffered  for  no  fault  of  her  own  either/*  she  added, 
quickly,  "for  she's  as  innocent  as  little  Annie  herself. 
Poor  thing!" 

"Poor  thing !"  echoed  John  Ashford,  turning  to  look  at 
the  group  of  three  and  then  falling  to  at  his  bread  and 
butter  again.  "Let  me  see,  she's  been  here  three  days, 
hasn't  she?  Rum  thing,  my  finding  her  so,  isn't  it?  If 
I  hadn't  run  across  the  moor  that  evening  from  Walton 
I  shouldn't  V  seen  the  poor  thing  lying  in  the  shade  of 
the  furze.  Wouldn't  give  no  account  of  herself,"  he 
continued,  going  over  meditatively  the  circumstances  of 
his  discovery  of  the  girl  who  was  playing  with  the  chif- 
dren  outside.  "Said  her  name  was  'Ria ;  that's  for  Maria, 
I  suppose?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lucy.  "I've  called  her  Maria,  as  seeming 
more  kindly  like." 

"And  she  hasn't  said  anything  more  than  that  she 


Staunch  of  Heart.  161 

tramped  from  London  because  she  couldn't  bear  the 
crowds  ?" 

"No,"  said  his  wife,  "nothing  more,  and  I  haven't  asked 
her,  John.  We  don't  want  to  know  what  sorrow  it  was 
that  drove  her  from  her  friends.  It's  enough  for  us  that 
she  is  little  better  than  a  child,  penniless  and  homeless.  If 
she's  got  a  secret  let  her  keep  it,  John  dear.  We  all  have 
a  little  corner  in  our  hearts  which  we  keep  closed,"  she 
added,  almost  unconsciously. 

"Excepting  you  and  me,  my  dear,"  said  John,  getting 
up,  wiping  his  mouth  and  kissing  her. 

She  started  and  paled  a  little. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  she  said,  "excepting  you  and  me, 
dear." 

"We've  no  secrets,"  said  the  good-natured  grocer.  "Our 
hearts  are  open  as  skeleton  clocks — all  the  works  to  be 
seen  for  nothing,  eh,  Lucy,  my  dear?"  and  laughing  at 
his  own  apt  simile,  he  kissed  her  again. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "if  you'll  take  care  of  the  shop 
I'll  just  go  over  and  buy  those  things  at  Richmond.  Old 
Tucker's  cart  starts  in  half  an  hour*  and  it's  a  good 
twenty  minutes  to  his  place." 

"Go  along,  then,"  said  his  little  wife,  cheerfully,  "and 
don't  forget  my  new  bonnet  ribbon." 

"All  right,"  said  the  husband ;  and  putting  on  his  hat  he 
waved  a  kiss  to  his  children  and  started  on  his  journey  to 
Richmond,  where  he  intended  purchasing  some  stock  for 
his  little  shop. 

Lucy  Ashford  looked  after  him  wistfully,  then  sighed. 

"Poor  John !"  she  murmured.  "If  he  knew  that  I  had 
a  secret,  and  such  a  one ;  he  who  believes  me  so  good  and 
— and — true  to  him,  and  so  I  am  true  to  him,  and  the  past 
can  only  be  repented  for,  and  I  do  repent.  Oh,  John, 
John !  if  you  knew  how  I  repent  that  evil  hour  when  my 
folly  and  vanity  ruined  me.  But  there,  I  will  not  think  of 
it.  It  is  quite  gone,  no  one  knows  of  it  excepting  Mr. 
Vermont,  and  he  I  have  not  seen  for  years,  and  poor 
father.  I  am  safe  from  them,  for  father  is  Mr*  Vermont's 
faithful  servant,  in  his  secrets  and  confidence,  and  he 
would  not  ruin  me  and  John.  Oh,  no,  no!  Let  me  for- 
get it  I  will  call  the  children :  Annie,  Lucy,  Maria  1" 


1 62  Staunch  of  Heart. 

When  she  called,  the  two  children  ran  toward  the  win- 
dow, and  the  girl  who  was  with  them  turned  her  head  and 
followed  them. 

It  was  Reah. 

Lucy  Ashford  stooped  to  kiss  the  children,  then  said 
kindly  to  the  quiet,  silent  girl : 

"You  must  be  tired  with  them  now,  my  dear.  Would 
you  like  to  come  and  sit  down  for  a  little  while  ?" 

Reah  raised  her  dark,  beautiful  eyes  gratefully. 

"No,  ma'am,  thank  you ;  I  am  not  tired.  They  are  so 
good  to  me.  I  love  them." 

"You  would  like  to  go  out  again  then?"  asked  Lucy 
Ashford. 

"Yes,  if  they  like,"  answered  Reah,  looking  at  the  chil- 
dren, and  the  rare,  sad  smile  just  parting  her  perfectly 
formed  lips. 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!"  cried  the  children.  "Come  along, 
'Ria!"  and  clinging  to  her  skirt  they  dragged  the  dark- 
eyed  girl  back  to  the  riverside  again. 

Lucy  Ashford  sat  at  the  table  whence  the  tea  things 
were  now  removed,  and  with'  some  needlework  in  her 
hand  tried  to  forget  that  blot  on  her  past,  the  knowledge 
of  Which  she  knew  would  blight  her  own,  her  husband's, 
and  her  children's  present  and  future. 

Meanwhile  Adrien's  skiff  was  moored  at  the  landing 
place  of  an  old  inn  some  distance  farther  up  the  river. 
Under  an  old  porch  the  Lady  Eveline  was  drinking  a  cup 
of  tea,  while  he  smoked  his  cigar  and  looked  lazily  at  the 
rising  moon. 

They  had  been  talking  quietly  and  gravely  for  some 
time.  There  was  the  flash  of  anger,  half  melting  into 
scorn,  in  Lady  Eveline's  eyes ;  in  his  a  gravity  and  earnest- 
ness visible  through  the  mask  of  placid  indolence. 

They  had  been  talking,  and  he,  with  a  fearlessness 
which  did  not  characterize  all  his  dealings  with  the  fair 
sex,  had  been  breaking  a  stern  resolution  to  his  com- 
panion. 

She  broke  the  silence  presently. 

"And  so  you  have  determined,  Adrien  ?  You  will  marry 
Lady  Constance  and — and — leave  me?" 

He  nodded. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  163 

* 

"You  know  I  must,"  he  said.  "I  must  marry,  and  soon. 
You  are  angry  because  I  tell  you,  Eveline;  you  would 
be  angry  if  I  played  you  false,  deceived  you,  sprung  my 
marriage  on  you  after  it  had  occurred." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "And  this  is  the  last 
happy  day  we  shall  spend  together?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  half  sigh.  "And  I  believe, 
standing  here  in  the  calm  moonlight,  that  we  ought  never 
to  have  spent  any  at  all.  But  I  do  not  moralize,  I  am 
no  worse  than  other  men  of  my  set ;  we  are  caught  in  the 
whirlpool  and  cannot  but  fall  in  its  eddies.  But  tonight 
is  the  last,  Eveline.  Do  not  smile  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
am  going  to  change  the  tenor  of  my  life.  The  baron  has 
raised  his  voice,  and  sternly  announced  my  duty  as  head 
of  our  race.  You  who  love  high  blood  and  all  its  re- 
sponsibilities would  not  tempt  me  to  disregard  his  voice. 
We  have  been  playing  at  love,  Lady  Eveline — no  harm 
but  in  the  seeming,  as  Heaven  bears  witness,  but,  pleasant 
pastime  as  it  is,  it  must  end.  But  let  us  spend  this  last 
evening  more  pleasantly  than  debating  on  these  minor 
moralities  of  our  life.  Come,  the  moon  is  up,  we  must  be 
going  down  stream." 

Lady  Eveline,  who  knew  him  too  well  to  hope  that  the 
eloquence  of  Cicero  or  all  the  tears  of  a  Niobe  would  move 
him  when  he  had  made  a  resolve,  wisely  acquiesced  in  his 
renunciation,  and  the  two  got  into  the  boat. 

Adrien,  who  felt  as  a  man  does  who  has  taken  a  step  on 
the  road  of  duty,  pulled  leisurely  with  the  stream.  The 
moon  grew  |  brighter,  the  night  more  delicious  with  every 
five  minutes. 

A  profound  silence  reigned  around,  broken  only  by  the 
occasional  cry  of  a  night  bird. 

Presently  Lady  Eveline  peered  forward. 

"The  moon  is  so  deceiving,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "I  nearly  steered  you  into  the  bank." 

"Can  you  see?"  he  said.  "Put  down  the  lines,  and  I 
will  guide  the  boat  while  I  row,  if  you  cannot." 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  can  see  well  enough." 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  row  quicker.  It's 
time  we  were  at  Hampton.  What  time  did  you  order  the 
brougham  for?" 


164  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Nine,"  she  replied,  with  a  sigh. 

"Nine?"  he  repeated.    "Then  I  must  row  quickly." 

And  his  long  strokes  grew  more  rapid.  The  boat  flew 
along,  breaking  up  the  placid  water  into  silver  beneath 
each  plunge. 

Lady  Eveline  leaned  forward,  steering  silently.  Sud- 
denly she  started  up  with  a  cry  of  alarm. 

"Look,  look!"  she  cried,  "what  is  that?"  and  pointed  to 
a  sheet  of  spray  rising  and  falling  a  few  yards  from  them, 
or  rather  below  them. 

Adrien  turned  his  head,  rowing  still,  thinking  it  was  an 
owl;  but  the  next  moment  reversed  the  sculls  and  cried 
sternly : 

"Sit  down ;  you  have  steered  us  over  the  weir !" 

There  was  scarcely  a  moment's  space  between  his  words 
and  the  darting  of  the  boat  to  the  sleek,  shining  sluice. 

He  tried  to  stem  the  tide,  but  vainly. 

"Cling  to  the  boat!"  he  shouted  loudly;  for  the  falling 
of  the  water  rang  and  hummed  around  them ;  then,  as  the 
boat  capsized  and  plunged  into  the  foam  beneath,  he  made 
a  grasp  at  her  dress,  missed  it,  and,  from  where  he  was 
swimming  amid  the  foam,  saw  her  lightly  clad  form  dash- 
ing away  down  the  stream. 

He  turned  his  stony  stern  face  up  to  the  moon  with 
a  silent  prayer  that  the  punishment  of  their  mutual  folly 
might  not  fall  on  the  weak  woman  alone,  then  struck  out 
after  her. 

He  was  an  expert  swimmer,  and,  aided  by  the  stream, 
which  was  as  swift  as  a  millrace,  he  soon  overtook  her. 

Her  face  was  turned  upward,  her  eyes  were  closed. 

"Heaven  grant  me  her  life,"  he  groaned,  and,  clutching 
her  hair,  he  swam  slantwise  toward  the  bank. 

A  few  seconds  and  he  had  reached  it,  panting  like  a  race 
horse,  and  nearly  exhausted.  Then  he  laid  her  down,  and 
felt  for  some  signs  of  life  in  her  hands  and  lips. 

She  still  breathed,  and,  with  a  hoarse  groan  of  grati- 
tude, he  looked  around  for  assistance. 

At  a  little  distance  a  light  burned  in  a  window. 

Without  pausing  an  instant  he  took  the  still  form  in  his 
arms  and  hastened  toward  it. 

Happily  unconscious  of  the  struggle  for  life  going  on 


Staunch  of  Heart.  165 

within  hearing,  little  Lucy  Ashford  sat  working  busily, 
her  meek  face  lifted  to  the  lamp  occasionally,  with  the 
habitual  restless  look  and  the  usual  sigh  passing  through 
the  timid  lips. 

The  children  were  in  bed,  Reah  was  coming  down  the 
stairs  from  them,  when  a  sharp  rat-tat  at  the  door  caused 
Lucy  Ashford  to  start  and  drop  her  work. 

The  shop  was  closed,  but  the  door  was  half  open  on 
account  of  the  heat,  and,  wondering  who  it  could  be,  the 
little  wife  took  up  the  candle  and  passed  into  the  shop. 

A  gentleman  stood  at  the  counter,  his  face  away  from 
her. 

She  shaded  the  candle,  and  he  turned. 

Down  went  the  candle,  and  up  went  two  timid  hands 
to  her  face. 

Mr.  Jasper  Vermont,  for  it  was  that  gentleman,  stood 
looking  at  her  with  a  cruel,  amused  smile  for  a  moment, 
then,  in  his  soft,  unctuous  voice,  said: 

"I  am  afraid  I've  startled  you,  Miss — Mrs.  Lucy  Ash- 
ford. Pray  let  me  recover  the  candle ;  that's  it.  Hem ! 
quite  startled!  Unwelcome  visitor,  eh?" 

"No,  no,"  breathed  the  poor  little  woman,  who  re- 
sembled a  small  sparrow  in  the  clutches  of  its  natural 
enemy,  the  hawk.  "No,  sir.  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you, 
sir!  Will  you  come  in?" 

At  this  faint  welcome  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  smiled 
again. 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Lucy,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  will. 
What  a  charming  night!  And  what  a  pretty  little  place. 
Hem!  most  charming!  Commerce  and  romance,  I  de- 
clare, and  now" — sinking  into  a  seat  and  fixing  his  eyes 
upon  the  white,  frightened  face  of  the  sparrow — "how 
is  your  good  husband,  Mr.  John  Ashford?" 

"Very  well,  sir,"  faltered  Lucy,  praying  with  all  her 
weak  heart  that  John  might  not  come  home. 

"And  the  children — two,  aren't  there?  Pretty  little 
dears !  Do  you  know  I'm  so  fond  of  children,  Mrs.  Lucy  ? 
Quite  a  happy  woman  you  must  be — quite.  Dear  me,  a 
most  comfortable  little  house — I  never  saw  anything  like 
it,  excepting  once,  and  that  was  at  Canterbury !" 


1 66  Staunch  of  Heart. 

The  poor  woman  fell  down  on  her  knees,  and  turned  up 
her  white  face. 

"Oh,  sir,  kind,  good  sir,  you  will  spare  me!  You  will 
not  ruin  me !  You  will  not  break  my  heart !  We  are  so 
happy — he  is  so  good.  The  little  ones ! — oh,  think  of  the 
Httle  ones,  and  don't  betray  me !  Oh,  think,  sir.  I  was 
so  young,  so  giddy,  so  thoughtless,  and  that  man  was  so 
wicked.  He  tempted  me — he  did,  sir,  like  a  serpent  and — 
oh,  good,  kind  sir,  I  will  pray  for  you  every  night  as  I 
pray  for  John  and  my  little  ones  if  you  will  spare  me  and 
keep  my  secret !" 

Mr.  Jasper  smiled. 

It  was  meat  and  drink  this  abject  misery,  this  servile 
beseeching  for  his  mercy. 

He  felt  almost  tempted  to  spurn  the  slight,  still  girlish 
form,  for  the  mere  luxury  of  the  thing,  but  he  restrained 
himself. 

"Get  up,  my  good  woman,"  he  said,  contemptuously. 
"I  shall  keep  your  secret ;  oh,  yes,  well — well,  perhaps  for- 
ever— who  knows?  Good  John,  simple  John!  Ha,  ha! 
Little  does  he  think  his  quiet  little  wife  was  such  a  mad- 
cap thing  before  he  married  her,  taking  trips  to  Canter- 
bury with  handsome  young  men.  There,  there,"  he  added, 
as  a  moan  of  anguish  escaped  the  tortured  woman,  "no 
nonsense ;  I  shan't  enlighten  good,  kind  John  tonight,  but 

I  want  a  bed.  I  mean  to  sleep  here  tonight.  I Hello, 

who's  that  ?"  he  broke  off  suddenly  as  Reah,  with  her  little, 
graceful  step,  entered  the  room. 

She  paused  at  the  sound  of  his  voice ;  then  stood  stock- 
still,  transformed'  to  stone,  staring  at  him  with  a  look  of 
mingled  repugnance  and  fascinated  attraction,  as  a  bird 
is  numbed  by  the  glitter  of  the  snake's  eyes. 

"Who's  that  ?"  repeated  Mr.  Jasper,  eyeing  the  motion- 
less face  with  a  look  of  uneasiness. 

"A  poor  girl — leave  us,  my  dear,"  faltered  Lucy,  and 
Reah,  setting  down  the  candle,  passed  out. 

Mr.  Jasper  took  off  his  light  summer  overcoat. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "about  my  room." 

"You  shall  have  the  best,  sir,"  replied  Lucy,  eagerly. 
"Anything,  everything  we  have  is  yours." 


Staunch  of  Heart.  167 

"Ay,"  said  Mr.  Jasper  with  a  laugh.  "Well,  set  about 
it.  I'm  tired,  and " 

Another  knock  at  the  door,  this  time  followed  by  a 
man's  heavy  footsteps  and  a  man's  commanding  voice : 

"Help!    Quick  here  with  a  light!" 

Lucy  screamed. 

Mr.  Jasper  changed  color. 

"What !"  he  muttered.  Then  he  leaped  to  the  door,  set 
his  back  against  it,  and  seized  Lucy  by  the  arm  almost 
savagely.  "Hark  you!"  he  whispered  in  her  ear.  "I 
know  that  gentleman.  Breathe  a  word  to  lead  him  to 
think  I  am  here,  and  John  knows  all!  Hide  me  some- 
where, where  I  can  see.  You  understand?  Quick!" 

Lucy,  trembling  like  a  leaf,  opened  a  door,  whose  upper 
half  was  glazed,  and  which  led  from  the  small  room,  and 
Mr.  Jasper,  who  had  not  occupied  a  minute  in  hissing  out 
his  injunction,  leaped  into  the  ambush. 

She  then  ran  to  the  other  door,  opened  it,  and  in  stag- 
gered Adrien  with  his  burden. 

"My  good  woman,"  he  said,  firmly  but  quickly,  "not  a 
moment  is  to  be  lost.  This  lady  is  drowned  nearly.  Put 
her  in  bed." 

"I  know,"  said  Lucy,  her  spirit  springing  up  in  such 
an  emergency.  "Help  me,  sir.  Oh,  dear !" 

Adrien  carried  Lady  Eveline  up  the  narrow  stairs  and 
laid  her  on  the  bed. 

Lucy  ran  down,  got  a  bottle  of  spirits  and  ran  up 
again,  calling  for  Reah. 

"Fetch  the  doctor,  sir,"  said  Lucy.  "He  is  up  at  the 
inn." 

And  Adrien  started,  but  suddenly  pulled  up. 

Lady  Eveline  valued  her  reputation  far  more  than  her 
life.  To  fetch  a  doctor  might  save  the  latter,  but  would 
most  certainly  ruin  the  former. 

While  he  mused  these  few  seconds  out  in  the  road  Reah 
ran  through  the  room  and  so  missed  him. 

He  returned  quickly  and  stood  in  the  little  shop,  waiting 
sternly  with  a  heavy  heart,  Mr.  Jasper's  eyes  devouring 
his  face  and  Mr.  Jasper's  lips  wreathed  in  a  sardonic 
smile  behind  the  curtained  window. 

Presently  Lucy  ran  down. 


i68  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Where's  the  doctor,  sir?  Oh,  hasn't  he  come?  The 
lady's  alive,  sir!" 

"Thank  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Adrien. 

"And  she  says  we  are  not  to  send  for  the  doctor." 

"I  understand,"  said  Adrien,  hastily.  "And  is  she  well 
enough  to  sit  up,  to  move?' 

"Yes,  sir ;  at  least  she  says  so,"  replied  Lucy,  trembling, 
for  now  the  excitement  was  over  she  remembered  the 
dread  presence  behind  the  door.  "She  is  changing  her 
clothes  for  some  of  mine,  sir,  and  she  says  that  if  you 
get  a  carriage ' 

Adrien  nodded. 

"Tell  her,"  he  said,  quickly,  "that  I  have  gone  to  get 
one,  and  that  if  she  is  strong  enough  to  start  at  once  all 
may  yet  be  saved.  You  can  remember." 

He  hastened  out  to  the  door,  bribed  the  groom  to  speed 
with  a  sovereign,  and  in  a  marvelously  short  time  had  the 
carriage  at  the  door. 

Quick  as  he  was,  Lady  Eveline  had  been  quicker,  and 
now  stood  in  the  little  parlor  wrapped  in  shawls,  looking 
very  white  but  also  hard  and  resolute. 

She  motioned  to  Adrien  with  her  hand  that  she  was 
ready,  and  he,  laying  a  five-pound  note  upon  the  table,  said 
a  few  words  of  thanks  to  Lucy,  and  took  the  miserable 
woman  to  the  carriage. 

No  sooner  had  the  door  closed  and  the  horse  started 
than  she  threw  up  her  hands  and  groaned : 

"Adrien,  I  am  ruined !" 

"No,"  said  Adrien,  "you  are  safe  even  now.  The  man 
is  promised  twenty  guineas  if  he  reaches  Hampton  in  an 
hour.  The  brougham  will  be  waiting,  you  can  reach 
home  and  your  rooms  in  that  shawl  unperceived." 

"But  you— but  you!"  she  wailed.  "Will  you 
promise " 

"I,"  he  said,  with  a  low  laugh  of  scorn  at  her  doubt  of 
him.  "This  day  of  my  life  is  yours ;  none  will  ever  hear 
from  me  how  it  was  spent,  and  you  know  it." 

"You  swear?"  she  murmured. 

"I  have,"  he  said,  simply.  "When  I  give  my  word  I 
have  sworn  as  deeply  as  I  can." 

Alas,  he  did  not  pause  to  reflect  that,  let  what  might 


In  Deadly  Peril. 

happen,  there  was  one  day  of  his  life  he  could  not  ac- 
count for,  one  whole  day  lost  from  the  account,  one  day 
of  which  he  had  sworn  to  keep  with  sealed  lips. 

No  sooaer  had  the  carriage  rolled  away  than  Mr.  Jasper 
came  out 

He  was  very  pale,  but  his  eyes  shone  like  stars. 

"Lucy  Ashford,"  he  said,  sinking  into  a  chair  and 
holding  one  finger  up  with  a  warning  gesture,  "you  may 
be  asked  some  day  if  a  lady  was  brought  here  by  a  gentle- 
man on  such  a  night,  under  such  circumstances.  What 
would  you  answer?" 

"That — that  she  was,"  faltered  the  poor  woman. 

Mr.  Jasper  frowned. 

"At  your  peril,"  he  said,  shaking  his  finger,  with  a  sav- 
age light  in  his  eye.  "Let  no  living  soul  hear  one  syllable 
of  this  night's  occurrence,  or  the  story  of  your  Canterbury 
trip  becomes  the  property  of  the  whole  world.  Ay,  my 
good  Lucy,  I'll  proclaim  it  from  the  housetop  till  not  a 
corner  of  the  earth  remains  for  you  to  hide  from  your 
shame.  And  now  Where's  that  girl  ?" 

Weeping-,  trembling  in  every  limb,  almost  dead  with 
terror,  Lacy  sought  her,  but  Reah  was  not  to  be  found. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IN  DEADLY  PERIL. 

The  announcement  of  the  fancy  ball  to  be  held  at  Bar- 
minster  produced  the  greatest  sensation  of  the  season,  and 
every  one  of  any  consequence  was  on  the  qui  vive  of  ex- 
pectancy ;  for  it  was  known  that  Barminster  Castle  was  of 
vast  extent  and  that  the  invitations  would  be  on  a  liberal 
scale. 

Adrien  had  roused  from  his  usual  lethargic  state,  and 
plunged,  with  what  was  enthusiasm  for  him,  into  the  elab- 
orate preparation  of  costumes  and  effects. 

The  whole  castle  was  to  be  lighted  and  decorated  in  the 
most  splendid  style,  the  costumes,  manufactured  by  the 
masters  of  the  art  and  authorized  by  great  heraldic  au- 
thorities, were  to  be  of  the  most  magnificent  description, 
and  the  grounds  from  the  race  course  to  the  cataract  in  the 
woods  were  to  be  adorned  by  colored  lamps  and  rare 
statuary. 

The  night  arrived,  the  temporary  stables,  which  the 
village  carpenters  had  been  erecting  adjoining  the  ordi- 
nary ones,  were  filling  rapidly. 

Music  floated  through  the  night  air  and  awoke  the 
birds.  Ripples  of  laughter  chimed  in  with  the  clatter  and 
rattle  of  the  horses'  hoofs  and  carriage  wheels. 

The  great  reception  rooms,  all  covered  and  glittering  in 
crimson  and  gold,  were  filling  with  the  most  incongruous 
crowd  that  had  ever  moved  within  the  castle  walls. 

Cavaliers  in  silks  and  satins,  crusaders  in  mail  and  silver 
armor;  Alsace  peasant  girls — who  were  countesses  and 
ladies  of  high  degree  behind  their  masks;  Carmelite 
monks,  and  Sicilian  nuns;  fair-haired  Marguerites  and 
handsome,  richly  clad  Fausts;  a  long  line  of  kingly 
Louises,  Richards  and  Johns;  a  troop  of  Spanish  ladies 
with  almond  eyes  and  long  mantillas;  Peter  the  Hermit 
in  conversation  with  Apollo  in  silver  tissue ;  all  the  prin- 

170 


Staunch  of  Heart.  171 

cipal  characters  in  history  and  fable  seemed  to  have  risen 
from  their  graves  in  full  costume  to  meet  beneath  the  roof 
of  Barminster  Castle  to  laugh,  gossip  and  dance. 

Up  in  the  gallery  of  the  great  saloon  a  famous  orchestra 
poured  forth  the  most  dulcet  invitation  that  Terpischore 
ever  obeyed,  and  the  guests  were  waiting  only  for  the 
baron's  appearance  to  accept  the  invitation  and  commence 
the  ball. 

Suddenly,  when  the  buzzing  was  at  its  height,  the  cur- 
tains at  the  end  of  the  reception  room  were  divided  by 
unseen  hands,  and  Lady  Penelope,  attired  as  Queen  Elea- 
nor, leaning  upon  the  arm  of  the  baron,  who  had  thrown 
over  his  evening  dress  a  black  claret  domino  and  carried 
his  mask  in  his  hand,  appeared  at  the  opening  and  came 
forward  to  greet  their  guests. 

Immediately  behind  them  came  Adrien  and  Lady  Con- 
stance, and  at  their  appearance  a  buzz  of  admiration  and 
interest  arose  above  the  silence. 

Never  did  Lady  Constance  look  better  than  tonight, 
when,  in  her  assumed  character  of  Miranda  in  the  "Tem- 
pest," she  glided  forward  in  her  robe  of  white  satin,  re- 
rieved  here  and  there  by  pink  seashells  and  tiny  wreaths 
of  seaweed. 

Never  did  Adrien  look  more  handsome  or  more  prince- 
fy.  He  had  taken  the  character  of  Charles  the  First  of 
saintly  memory,  and  his  handsome,  melancholy  face,  with 
its  dark,  deep  eyes,  looked  the  martyred  king's  itself. 

"Wonderful !"  was  the  general  exclamation.  "It  is  as  if 
fhe  portrait  in  the  gallery  had  stepped  from  its  frame. 
Everything  exact  from  the  lace  collar  to  the  jeweled  order 
on  his  breast." 

Unconscious  of,  or  indifferent  to,  the  admiration  they 
provoked,  Adrien  and  Lady  Constance  mingled  with  the 
throng,  and  the  baron,  with  the  duchess  on  his  arm, 
moved  to  the  great  saloon  and  proclaimed  the  ball  opened. 

"What  a  magnificent  sight,  Adrien,  dear,"  said  Lady 
Penelope,  all  m  a  flutter  of  delight,  as  Adrien  passed  her 
half  an  hour  afterward.  "I  declare  it  is  like  the  carnival 
of  Venice.  Such  wonderful  dresses.  And  the  mystery  is 
so  delightful.  Really  I  don't  know  who  is  who,  the  masks 
are  such  complete  disguises.  Look,  who  is  that?" 


172  Staunch  of  Heart. 

And  she  motioned  to  a  lady  dressed  as  Undine,  who 
passed  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Mephistopheles. 

"That,"  said  Adrien,  for  whose  quick  eyes  disguises 
were  nearly  useless.  "That  is — yes,  I  cannot  be  mistaken 
— Lady  Eveline." 

His  voice  dropped  slightly  as  he  spoke  the  name,  for 
he  'had  not  expected  her  acceptance  of  Lady  Penelope's 
invitation,  and  was  surprised  by  her  presence. 

"And  who  is  the  Mephistopheles?"  asked  Lady  Con- 
stance, gliding  up  with  the  marquis. 
Adrien  looked  after  him. 

"I  don't  know.  It  is  a  capital  disguise,  whoever  it  may- 
be." 

"It  is  something,  a  shadow  only,  like  Mr.  Jasper  Ver- 
mont," said  Lady  Constance. 

"It  is  not  he,"  said  Adrien.  "He  is  not  here  tonight, 
nor  will  be." 

The  baron,  who  approached  at  the  moment,  talking  with 
the  Due  de  Rouen,  gave  a  sharp  sigh  of  relief  and  shot 
an  almost  grateful  glance  at  his  princely  son. 

Adrien  caught  the  look,  and  fully  understood  it.  He 
said  nothing,  however,  but  went  in  search  of  his  partner 
for  the  next  valse,  a  Joan  of  Arc,  in  the  daintiest  tissue 
armor. 

Meanwhile  the  Undine  and  Mephistopheles  had  seated 
themselves  in  the  deep  recess  of  one  of  the  high  windows 
and  were  chatting  comfortably. 

"Let  me  get  you  an  ice,  madam,"  said  the  Mephis- 
topheles, in  a  queer,  strained  voice. 

Undine  turned  her  masked  face  toward  him,  and  her 
eyes  flashed  through  the  mask  curiously. 

"You  may,"  she  replied,  also  disguising  her  voice,  "if 
you  will  tell  me  who  you  are." 

"That  I  dare  not!"  replied  the  gentlemanly  demon. 
"My  name  is  never  mentioned  in  ears  polite,  you  know." 

Undine  smiled. 

"Mephistopheles  has  many  names,"  she  said.  "I  should 
like  to  know  your  human  one  ?  Perhaps  you  know  mine 
without  asking?" 

"I  know  everything,  madam,"  replied  Mephistopheles, 


Staunch  of  Heart.  173 

with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes.    "You  are — shall  I  whisper  't? 
— well,  the  Lady  Eveline." 

Undine  started. 

"Disguised  so  ill!"  she  said.  "I  hoped  I  had  lost  my 
identity.  Well,  sir,  you  may  fetch  the  ice." 

Mephistopheles  brought  the  ice  and  reseated  himself. 

"It  is  a  fair  scene,"  he  said.  "And,  as  the  account  in 
tomorrow's  papers  will  read,  fabulous.  And  yet,  can  any 
one  do  justice  to  its  magnificence — and,  ahem !  cost  ?" 

Undine  smiled  still.  She  began  to  pierce  her  com- 
panion's disguise. 

"The  host  should  feel  happy  and  satisfied,"  she  said, 
turning  her  eyes  to  where  the  baron  stood. 

"Yes,  happy,"  said  the  Mephistopheles ;  "but  not  satis- 
fied, my  lady.  Satisfaction  will  never  rest  upon  that 
wrinkled  head  until  an  event  occurs  which  he  has  set  his 
heart  upon." 

"You  mean,"  said  Lady  Eveline,  in  a  low  voice,  while 
her  eyes  drooped,  "the  marriage  of  his  son  and  Lady 
Tremaine?" 

Mephistopheles  nodded. 

"You  have  deemed  rightly,  madam.  See  there  where 
they  stand !  what  an  excellent  match  it  would  be ;  and  yet 
how  sad  to  think  that " 

"What?"  cried  the  countess,  who  had  paled  beneath  her 
mask,  and  looked  up  as  he  hesitated. 

"It  never  shall  be!" 

The  countess  grasped  his  arm,  and  trembled  with  fiery 
eagerness. 

"Say  that  again,  if  you  know  enough  to  say  it  with 
some  certainty  of  its  being  true." 

"With  pleasure,"  said  Mephistopheles.    "I  say "  he 

broke  off  suddenly,  and,  setting  down  the  glass,  glided 
from  her  side,  as  Adrien,  with  a  lady  on  his  arm,  ap- 
proached the  recess. 

Lady  Eveline  looked  after  him  with  astonishment,  and 
then,  seeing  Adrien  before  her,  turned  her  head  aside,  and 
seemed  as  anxious  as  Mephistopheles  himself  to  avoid 
recognition. 

"And  Mr.  Leroy,"  said  the  lady  upon  Adrien's  arm, 
"can  you  tell  me  who  this  latest  arrival  is?" 


174  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"I  have  not  seen  her,"  said  Adrian,  rather  wearily,  for 
he  was  beginning  to  tire  of  the  host  of  questions  which  he 
had  been  expected  to  answer. 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  could  see  her!  Such  a  magnificent  get- 
up.  A  Cleopatra,  I  think,  all  crimson  and  gold  and  pearls. 
Look,  there  she  is !"  and  the  lady  pointed  to  a  tall  masker, 
superbly  dressed  as  Cleopatra,  who  was  moving  up  the 
saloon  surrounded  by  a  group  of  admirers  in  the  most 
fantastic  costumes,  who  were  soliciting  the  honor  of  her 
hand. 

With  all  her  beauty  and  magnificence,  the  new  arrival 
looked  rather  uneasy,  and  as  her  dark,  full  eyes  met  the 
steady  regard  of  Adrien's  she  visibly  turned  pale  beneath 
her  mask,  and  moved  a  little  aside. 

The  lady  on  Adrien's  arm  felt  him  start  back  slightly, 
and  looking  up  she  saw  that  his  lips  had  grown  stern,  and 
that  there  was  an  angry,  displeased  light  in  his  eyes  quite 
foreign  to  them, 

"Do  you  know  her?"  she  whispered. 
"Yes !"  he  said  sternly.    "But  it  would  be  a  breach  of 
confidence  to  betray  her,  madam,  so  you  must  not  ask  me." 
Then,  as  the  lady's  father  came  up  to  claim  her,  he 
surrendered  her  with  his  old,  courteous  smile,  and  strode 
off  to  the  corner  where  Cleopatra,  who  seemed  now  to 
be  anxious  to  avoid  notice,  had  seated  herself. 

She  started  to  her  feet  as  Adrien  approached,  then  sank 
into  the  seat  again,  and  looked  up  at  him  defiantly. 

At  that  moment  the  band  struck  up  for  the  cotillon,  the 
mass  of  colors  stirred  like  the  lines  in  a  kaleidoscope,  and 
the  dance,  amid  a  rustle  of  silks  and  ripple  of  laughter, 
commenced. 

Adrien  was  engaged  to  Lady  Constance  for  the  same 
dance,  but  he  had  forgotten  it  in  the  height  of  his  anger. 

"Haidee,"  he  said,  sternly,  "what  do  you  here?  This 
is  no  place  for  you !" 

"No  place  for  me,  Adrien?"  she  breathed,  her  bosom 
swelling  angrily,  and  her  large  hands  clinching. 

"No,"  he  repeated,  "and  you  know  it.    Do  you  know 
what  the  baron  would  do  if  he  discovered  you  here  ?" 
"No,"  she  answered  with  a  slight  pallor.    "What?" 


Staunch  of  Heart.  175 

"Order  the  servants  to  eject  you,"  said  Adrien.  "How 
did  you  come  here?" 

"By  my  legs,"  retorted  the  actress.  "They're  good  for 
something  else  besides  dancing  in  your  theater.  Adrien, 
you're  an  unfeeling  brute  to  speak  to  me  like  this.  And 
it's  very  natural  that  I  should  come  down  here  to  see  after 
you,  when  I  hear  that  you're  going  to  marry  that  grand 
swell  that  looks  like  a  silver  pheasant." 

"Silence !"  said  Adrien,  stoopingi  to  offer  his  arm,  but 
in  reality  grasping  hers.  "Keep  your  mask  on  and  come 
with  me.  If  it  should  fall  I  would  not  answer  for  the 
consequences." 

She  arose,  mutely  obedient,  and  moved  by  his  side  to  a 
passage  opening  on  the  terrace,  the  cream  and  crimson 
of  her  magnificent  robe  contrasting  finely  with  the  black 
velvet  and  lace  of  his  Charles  costume. 

"Now,"  he  said,  drawing  the  curtain  so  that  they  were 
hidden  from  the  room,  "there  is  something  more  in  your 
presence  here  than  you  seem  willing  to  admit.  My  mar- 
riage can  matter  nothing  to  you,  Haidee;  you  have  the 
thousand  a  year  for  which  you  have  pretended  to  love 
me." 

"I  have  not,"  she  retorted,  "and  you  know  it." 

He  held  up  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  contemptuous 
command. 

"Speak  properly,  if  you  can,"  he  said,  "or  I  leave  you 
at  once.  You  say  that  you  have  not  received  the  deed  ?" 

"I  haven't,"  said  Haidee,  sulkily.  "And  it  ain't  no  use 
you  carryin'  it  on  in  this  high-handed  way,  because  I  ain't 
going  to  be  deceived  by  it.  You  promised  that  you  would 
make  me  an  allowance  of  a  thousand  a  year  when  you  left 
me.  You've  left  me,  and  where's  the  thousand?" 

"I  gave  the  deed  to  Jasper,"  said  Adrien,  looking  down 
upon  her  thoughtfully  and  with  a  dislike  which  set  him 
wondering  how  he  could  ever  have  endured  such  a  crea- 
ture near  him. 

"You  gave  it  to  Jasper,  did  you?"  said  Haidee,  sud- 
denly, and  pulling  off  her  mask  as  she  spoke.  "Hang  me 
if  I  didn't  think  so.  That  Jasper's  a  thief.  I  heard,"  she 
continued,  disregarding  Adrien's  warning  gesture.  "I 
heard  you  say  something  about  a  deed,  and  I  thought  it 


176  Staunch  of  Heart. 

was  mine,  but  Jasper  said  it  was  something  about  the 
theater,  and  told  me  a  long  rigamarole,  which  of  course 
hadn't  a  grain  of  truth  in  it.  Jasper's  a  bad  one,  and  he's 
sold  me.  He's  got  the  coin  and  I'll  split  on  him  as  I 
threatened.  Adrien,  don't  stand  there  looking  at  me  as  if 
you  were  a  king ;  I'm  not  to  be  put  down.  I  intend  to  ex- 
pose the  whole  plant.  I'll  show  you  what  a  fool  they've 
made  of  you  who  thought  yourself  so  wise ;  111  tell  you  a 
thing  or  two  as  will  make  you  open  your  eyes  wider  than 
they  are  now.  I'll " 

"Silence !"  said  Adrien,  as  the  band  ceased,  and  voices 
were  heard  approaching  the  entrance.  "Not  another 
word.  There  is  some  mistake;  Jasper  has  forgotten,  or 
has  thought  fit  to  keep  the  deed  from  you.  Whatever  he 
did  is  right.  You  shall  have  the  money;  I  say  so,  and 
you  know  I  never  break  my  word.  Now  go.  Every  mo- 
ment you  stay  your  danger  increases.  The  baron,  my 
father,  is  used  to  be  obeyed,  and  to  punish  an  insult  as  it 
deserves;  your  presence  here  is  an  insult,  Haidee;  you 
are  no  idiot,  and  know  that  it  is  so.  If  he  should  see 

you Hush !  Slip  on  that  domino,"  and  he  pointed  to  a 

long,  black  masque  cloak  which  hung  over  the  balus- 
trade, "and  leave  the  castle.  You  shall  have  the  money,  I 
swear  it,  but  let  me  see  your  face  no  more." 

He  threw  the  cloak  around  her  and  pointed  to  the  flight 
of  steps;  then  as  she  descended  he  re-entered  the  ball- 
room as  his  father's  voice  was  heard  inquiring  for  him. 

"Lady  Constance  has  your  name  upon  her  carte  for  this 
dance,"  said  the  baron.  "Where  have  you  been,  Adrien  ?" 

Adrien  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow  with  a  half  sigh 
and  evaded  the  question. 

"Where  is  Lady  Constance,  my  lord?  Ah,  I  see  her 
and  will  go  to  her.  The  ball  is  going  off  well,  sir,  don't 
you  think?" 

The  baron  nodded  and  fixed  his  keen  eyes  upon  his 
son's  face. 

"Ay,"  he  said,  "your  friends  are  pronouncing  it  a  suc- 
cess ;  I  overheard  one  of  them,  a  Mr.  Pomfrey,  declare  it 
a  vision  of  the  Restoration.  But  Lady  Constance  waits." 

Adrien  inclined  his  head  and  made  his  way  to  Lady 


Staunch  of  Heart.  177 

Constance,  who  was  surrounded  by  a  small  crowd  of 
courtiers. 

She  looked  up  as  he  approached,  and  took  his  proffered 
arm  without  a  word. 

He  looked  at  her  beautiful  face,  and  a  sensation  almost 
like  a  faint  electric  shock  ran  through  him  at  the  purity 
of  her  beauty — so  great  a  contrast  to  the  woman  he  had 
just  parted  from,  that  he  loathed  the  vulgar  actress  and 
almost  himself  for  ever  having  touched  her  hand. 

In  that  moment  Love,  spying  the  soft  place  in  his  armor, 
took  sure  aim  and  sent  home  one  of  his  magic  shafts. 

When  Lady  Constance  raised  her  calm,  modest  eyes  to 
his  face,  the  sudden  change  in  it  from  careless  languor 
to  earnest  interest  startled  her. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Adrien  ?"  she  said.  "I  thought 
you  had  forgotten  me." 

"No,"  he  said,  sharply.  "I  remembered  you  so  well 
that  I  have  been  removing  that  which  would  have  been 
an  insult  in  your  presence." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  with  surprise. 

"No  matter,"  he  said.  'Constance,  do  you  care  for  the 
dance  ?  I  would  gladly  exchange  it  for  some  moments  of 
quiet  with  you;  shall  we  go  on  to  the  terrace?" 

Constance  inclined  her  head. 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  she  said.  "I  am  tired  already, 
and  longing  for  the  air." 

"Come,  then,"  he  said,  catching  up  her  crape  shawl 
that  hung  over  the  seat,  and  arranging  it  over  her  shoul- 
ders with  the  gentlest  touch. 

She  passed  on  to  the  terrace  and  seemed  to  have  slipped 
into  another  world,  so  great  a  contrast  was  the  peaceful 
moonlight  valley  beneath  them  to  the  highly  colored  ball- 
room they  had  left. 

As  the  curtain  swung  behind  them  Mephistopheles  flut- 
tered past  and  shot  a  sharp  glance  after  them  through  the 
eyeballs  of  his  full  rigid  mask ;  then  with  a  sinister  smile 
left  the  room  by  another  means  of  exit,  ran  lightly  down 
the  steps,  gained  a  brougham,  entered  it,  and  with  mar- 
velous rapidity  exchanged  his  costume  for  plain  evening 
dress. 

Over  this  he  threw  a  large  domino,  with  his  crush  hat  in 


178  Staunch  of  Heart. 

his  hand,  and,  keeping  well  in  the  shadow  of  the  shrubs, 
made  for  that  part  of  the  garden  which  was  directly  under 
the  terrace  where  Adrien  had  led  Constance. 

Here,  motionless  and  almost  breathless,  Mephistoph'eles, 
alias  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont,  listened  with  acute  ears. 

"It  is  hot,"  said  Constance,  throwing  her  shawl  from 
her  white  shoulders. 

"All  the  more  reason  that  you  should  be  careful,"  said 
Adrien,  replacing  it  with  the  same  gentleness. 

Lady  Constance  smiled  and  looked  up  at  his  handsome 
face  gratefully. 

"You  are  very  tired  of  all  this,  I  am  afraid,"  she  said* 
"Shall  I  ever  forget  that  you  have  endured  it  for  me?" 

"I  would  not  have  you  forget,"  he  said,  seating  himself 
beside  her,  and  looking  up  into  her  eyes,  which  seemed  to 
have  some  charm  for  him  which  was  strange  and  sweet. 
"Constance,  I  would  go  through  real  sorrow  and  pain  to 
gratify  the  slightest  whim  of  yours." 

She  moved  a  little  way  from  him,  and  turned  her  head 
aside. 

"Adrien,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  reproachful  voice,  "why 
will  you  talk  so  to  me — to  me  who  know  that  your  words 
mean  so  little?" 

He  put  his  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"Men  discover  gold  by  its  ringing  tone,"  he  said.  "You 
are  too  keen  a  refiner  to  be  deceived ;  listen,  and  confess 
that  I  offer  you  no  counterfeit  when  I  repeat,  Constance, 
that  I  would  die  to  serve  your  slightest  wish !" 

There  was  an  earnestness  in  his  voice  which  she  could 
not  misunderstand,  but  she  kept  her  face  turned  from 
him,  and  he  learned  only  from  the  quick-drawn  breath 
that  she  had  heard  him. 

"Constance,"  he  continued,  "turn  your  face  to  me  and 
listen.  Tonight  a  change  has  come  over  me  which  is  so 
wondrous  that  I  am  dazzled  and  almost  bewildered  by  it. 
Can  you  guess  what  it  is?" 

She  looked  at  him  sadly  and  shook  her  head  ere  she 
turned  it  from  him  again. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm  and  gazed  eagerly  up 
at  her. 

"The  change  is  one  I  have  been  thirsting  for.    Con- 


Staunch  of  Heart. 

stance,  this  morning  I  was  weary  of  life;  tonight  life 
seems  so  precious  to  me  that  I  would  have  it  last  forever. 
This  morning  my  heart  was  as  cold  and  as  heavy  as  this 
stone.  Tonight  it  has  grown  hot  and  beats  fast,  for  I 
love!" 

She  started  and  trembled. 

He  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  until  it  burned  as  hotly 
as  his  own. 

"I  love  you,  Constance!  Deem  it  no  weak,  transcient 
fancy  because  it  has  come  so  suddenly.  With  me  to  love 
once  is  to  love  forever.  You  are  my  first  love,  Constance, 
and  you  will  be  my  last,  however  it  may  go  with  me,  for 
ill  or  well.  Will  you  speak,  and  tell  me  that  it  shall  go 
well?  Alas!  I  am  not  worthy  to  touch  your  hand,  as 
pure  as  it  is  white,  as  innocent  as  it  is  soft  and  gentle. 
Constance,  forgive  me  the  folly  of  my  past  life,  and  if  that 
folly  has  grown  into  sin,  pardon  that  also,  and  take  me 
into  your  own  peaceful  life.  Speak,  Constance,  from  this 
moment  I  cast  off  the  old  life  with  all  its  wickedness  and 
weariness,  and  lay  my  fortune  at  your  feet.  Will  you 
stoop  and  take  it?" 

As  his  passionate  words  died  out  the  beautiful  girl  arose 
and  looked  down  upon  him.  There  was  a  light  in  her  face, 
a  tremor  on  her  lips  he  had  thought  impossible  for  them 
to  have  worn. 

"No!"  she  answered,  in  a  low,  touching  voice. 

"No!"  he  repeated,  sadly,  and  with  a  sudden  pallor. 
"No!  You  do  not  love  me,  Constance?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "and  for  that  reason  I  will  not  be  your 
wife.  Adrien,  a  change  has  fallen  upon  me,  too.  This 
morning  I  woke  with  a  vow  upon  my  lips.  I  had  sworn 
to  make  you  love  me.  As  certainly  as  that  your  heart  bore 
no  love  for  me  for  six  hours  past,  I  did  not  love.  But 
now,  how  I  know  not,  you  have  made  me  love  you,  and  I 
say  'No!'  a  thousand  times.  'No!'  Adrien,  do  not  speak 
until  you  learn  that  I  heard  you  promise  to  the  baron  to 
try  and  love  me !  Do  not  think  that  I,  a  Tremaine,  will 
take  you,  a  Leroy,  when  you  throw  yourself  at  my  feet 
prompted  by  filial  obedience!  No,  had  you  loved  me 
against  your  father's  wish,  loved  me  for  myself,  and  not  to 
please  an  «old  man's  wfhim,  I  would  have  cast  myself  at 


i8o  Staunch  of  Heart. 

your  feet  and  followed  you  to  the  end  of  the  world.  But 
now  i  say  that,  though  death  were  the  penalty  of  my  re- 
f  usal,  I  would  not  wed  you !  Go !  and  learn  the  bitter  les- 
son that  a  weak  woman  can  be  nobler  than  a  strong  man !" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  grasped  her  hand. 

"No !"  he  said.  "But  I  say  'Yes !'  Constance.  How  lit- 
tle you  know  me!  Your  words,  instead  of  turning  me 
from  my  purpose,  have  turned  it  into  one  of  steel.  It  is 
true  I  gave  a  promise,  it  is  true  that  I  spoke  of  you  so 
lightly  that  I  could  strike  these  lips  for  their  cold  inso- 
lence ;  but  now  I  swear  to  you  by  the  Heaven  above  me 
that  I  love  as  passionately  as  ever  man  loved  since  love 
was  man's  heritage,  and  that  though  you  say  'No'  till  the 
church  has  made  us  one,  one  we  shall  be !  Weak  indeed 
are  you,  my  darling,  if  you  think  to  oppose  the  passion  of 
my  love  by  so  frail  a  barrier.  My  father  was  right !  You 
are  worthy  of  a  Leroy's  love,  worthy  of  the  love  that  the 
greatest  of  men  might  bring  you !  Noble  Constance,  take 
back  your  'No'  and  murmur  'Yes'." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  her  toward  him  and  pressed  his 
lips  to  her  forehead. 

Neither  heard  a  step  behind  them,  and  it  was  not  until 
a  warning  cough  roused  them  that  Adrien  started  and  was 
aware  of  the  presence  of  Jasper  Vermont. 

"Jasper,"  he  said,  almost  sternly,  and  drawing  the  shawl 
around  Constance,  as  if  to  shield  her  from  other  eyes  save 
his  own,  "you  here !" 

"Yes,"  answered  Jasper.  "I  have  traveled  posthaste. 
Adrien,  I  have  important  business — a  matter  of  life  and 
death." 

He  moved  forward  as  he  spoke,  and  the  light  falling  on 
his  smooth,  clean  face  showed  it  to  be  so  white  and  moved 
that  Lady  Constance  fell  back  a  step  and  Adrien  stared 
with  surprise. 

"Important!"  he  repeated.  "Life  and  death!  Good 
heavens,  Jasper,  no  one  is  dead !  The  duke  is  here — all  I 
know  or  care  for  are  in  the  room  yonder.  What  is  it — the 
theater?"  and  a  faint  smile  crossed  his  lips. 

"Pshaw!"  exclaimed  Jasper,  with  a  feverish  gesture, 
"The  theater?  No!  Adrien,  there  is  not  a  moment  to 


Staunch  of  Heart.  181 

lose.    I  must  speak  with  you  instantly — you  smile,  man, 
when  you  are  in  deadly  peril." 

At  the  words  Constance  sprang  forward  and  grasped 
Adrien's  arm. 

Jasper  glanced  at  her — such  a  passionate,  thirsty,  hun- 
gry look  as  a  starved  wolf  might  cast  at  a  lamb. 

"Peril !"  she  repeated. 

"Peril!"  said  Adrien,  smiling  still.  "My  good  Jasper, 
what  peril  can  I  be  in  ?  This  is  the  nineteenth  century,  and 
there  are  no  assassins  in  England !  However,  let  me  take 
Lady  Constance  to  the  dance  again,  and  then  we  will  en- 
joy this  little  romance." 

Jasper  smiled  bitterly  and  took  out  his  watch. 

"Adrien  Leroy,"  he  said,  "you  have  ten  minutes  be- 
tween you  and — dishonor!" 

Adrien  turned  and  raised  his  arm,  with  such  a  changed 
face  that  Constance  scarcely  knew  it. 

"Adrien !"  she  cried,  shuddering  at  the  magnificent 
anger  in  his  eyes,  "he  is  mad!"  Then  to  Jasper:  "Go, 
sir,  go !  If  this  is  a  jest  it  is  a  sorry  one,  for  which  you 
will  receive  full  punishment.  Go!" 

"No,"  said  Adrien,  "it  is  no  jest.  There  is  something 
he  has  to  say.  Let  him  say  it.  Go,  Constance,"  and  with 
a  murmured  word  of  endearment  he  drew  back  the  cur- 
tain for  her. 

With  a  pale  face  and  trembling  heart,  Constance  passed 
into  the  ballroom  and  seated  herself  near  the  entrance, 
overcome  by  a  nameless  fear  and  that  horrible  helpless- 
ness which  falls  on  us  all  when  weighed  down  by  sus- 
pense. 

Suddenly  she  determined  to  seek  the  baron,  and  arose 
to  do  so,  when  a  short,  sharp  cry  from  the  terrace  sent  the 
blood  to  her  heart  and  wrung  a  scream  from  her  lips. 

Instantly  throughout  the  immense  room  there  was  a 
dead  silence,  which,  falling  so  suddenly  on  the  loud 
strains  of  the  music,  the  talking  and  laughing,  was  inde- 
scribably harsh  and  appalling. 

The  next  moment  the  grotesque  crowd  turned  to  the 
entrance  from  whence  the  cry  seemed  to  proceed,  and 
there  arose  a  great  shout  of  astonishment  and  alarm,  for 


i&2  Staunch  of  Heart. 

through  the  opening,  from  which  the  sudden  pressure  had 
torn  away  the  curtain,  could  be  seen  a  strange  group. 

Adrien  Leroy,  in  kingly  costume  and  with  kingly  face, 
standing  over  the  prostrate  body  of  a  man,  while  two 
others  with  scraps  of  paper  in  their  hands  were  grasping 
his  arms,  and  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  near  his  side,  kept 
back  a  fourth  with  his  own  arm. 

"Adrien  !'3  said  the  baron,  as  he  came  through  the  lane 
which  the  crowd  had  made  for  him,  followed  by  the  due, 
Lady  Constance  and  the  marquis.  "Adrien!  what  is 
this!  By  Heaven,  am  I  mad  or  dreaming?"  and  he 
turned  with  blazing  eyes  from  Adrien  to  Mr.  Jasper 
Vermont  who,  white  as  himself,  avoided  his  fiery  glance, 
and  shook  his  head  solemnly. 

Adrien  winced,  but  before  he  could  speak  the  man  be- 
hind Jasper  Vermont  stepped  up,  and,  with  grim  stolidity, 
held  out  a  strip  of  paper  to  the  baron,  and  said: 

"Sorry,  my  lord,  to  have  to  do  this  at  such  a  moment, 
but  duty  is  duty,  as  you  know,  my  lord,  and " 

The  baron  stared  at  him,  then,  evidently  deaf  as  a  post 
to  what  he  was  saying,  struck  the  nearest  of  the  men  who 
held  Adrien  and  struck  at  the  next,  but  the  marquis  seized 
his  arm. 

"Unhand  me!"  roared  the  baron.  "I'll  put  an  end  to 
this  mummery !  Can't  you  speak,  sir  ?"  he  cried  hoarsely 
to  Adrien. 

"Father,"  said  Adrien,  turning  to  the  staring,  bewil- 
dered crowd,  and  then  suddenly  falling  silent  as  his  eyes 
met  the  dark,  flashing  ones  of  Lady  Eveline,  which  were 
fixed  on  his  face. 

Before  another  word  could  be  spoken  the  man  who  had 
addressed  the  baron  before,  evidently  irritated  by  his  re- 
ception, motioned  to  his  men,  and  they  closed  around; 
then  speaking  quickly,  he  raised  his  voice,  and  said : 

"It's  no  use,  my  lord,  it  must  come  out,  I  see.  Gentle- 
men all,  I  arrest  Mr.  Leroy  in  the  Queen's  name,  on  a 
charge  of  forgery!" 

A  cry  of  horror  burst  from  the  crowd. 

"Forgery!"  the  dreadful  word  passed  from  mouth  to 
mouth — ay,  and  eye  to  eye,  as  the  gayly-dressed  throng 
looked  at  each  other  aghast. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  183 

"Forgery!"  cried  the  due,  stepping  forward,  sternly. 

"Forgery!"  said  the  baron,  with  a  ferocious  laugh. 
"What  mad  folly  is  this!  Adrien,  is  this  a  part  of  the 
evening's  programme,  an  arranged  tableau?  Truly,  well 
played,  but  a  little  too  tragic  in  its  mirth  to  suit  my  an- 
tiquated tastes.  Gentlemen,  I  implore  you  lower  the  cur- 
tain !" 

And  with  a  fearful  laugh  he  turned  aside. 

A  dreadful  silence  fell  upon  every  soul,  for  they  saw 
that  there  was  reality,  a  stern  reality. 

The  due,  who  had  taken  the  strip  of  paper  from  the  of- 
ficer's hands  and  read  it  hastily,  laid  his  strong  palm  upon 
the  old  man's  shoulder  and  muttered,  hoarsely: 

"My  lord,  there  is  something  in  the  men's  madness  I 
do  not  understand.  Let  them  go,"  and  he  waved  his 
hand  to  the  crowd. 

"No !"  thundered  the  baron,  turning  like  a  lion.  "They 
shall  stay  and  see  the  play  to  the  end." 

Then,  in  a  voice  hoarse  with  excitement  and  passion, 
he  addressed  Adrien. 

"Now,  sir,  explain;  let  us  have  it  all;  or,  by  Heaven 
above,  I  shall  forget  myself  and  you!" 

Adrien  beckoned  to  the  men  that  he  would  make  no 
attempt  to  escape,  and  quickly  stepped  forward. 

All  that  saw  him  remembered  afterward  that  he  had 
never  looked  so  princely  as  at  that  moment  of  his  degra- 
dation. 

"My  lord,"  he  said,  "I  am  arrested  on  a  charge  of 
forging  the  Due  de  Rouen's  signature  to  a  bill  for  ten 
thousand  pounds,  on  the  twenty-second  of  last  month." 

As  he  spoke  his  calm,  mournful  glance  wandered  for  a 
moment  to  the  restless  eyes  of  the  Undine. 

"Well,"  said  the  baron,  drawing  a  long  breath,  but  evi- 
dently making  a  great  effort  at  restraint.  "I  may  be  ar- 
rested on  a  charge  of  stealing  the  crown  jewels  or  burn- 
ing the  House  of  Parliament.  It  would  be  an  excellent 
jest,  but  one  that  would  speedily  end." 

"This  is  no  jest,"  said  Adrien,  and  he  looked  at  the  due, 
who  stood  white  and  seeming  bewildered  with  surprise 
at  his  side.  "The  due  has  acknowledged  the  signature 
to  be  a  forgery.  The  writing  has  a  resemblance  to  mine. 


184  Staunch  of  Heart. 

There  are  three  witnesses  to  prove  that  they  saw  me  enter 
the  house  where  the  bill  was  signed,  and  a  hundred  who 
passed  my  (carriage  standing  at  the  door  of  the  office.  All 
this,  my  lord,  passes  jest." 

"Ay,"  said  the  baron,  "for  a  Leroy,  who  can  command 
a  hundred  thousand  by  a  stroke  of  his  pen,  to  forge  a  bill 
for  ten  thousand  is  not  jest  but  madness.  The  charge  is 
some  insolent  conspiracy — yours,  sir,  no  doubt,"  and,  with 
a  contempt  indescribable,  he  turned  to  Jasper,  who  all 
this  time  had  stood  motionless,  his  gray  eyes  glancing 
first  at  Adrien's  calm,  noble  face,  then  at  the  restless  eyes 
of  Undine,  and  then  the  white  face  of  Lady  Constance, 
who  stood  at  Adrien's  side  and  gazed  around  with  a 
scorn  unapproachable. 

Adrien  shook  his  head. 

"No,  sir,  they  have  not  wanted  a  motive.  They  tell  me 
I  wanted  this  money  solely,  for  I — am  ruined!" 

"Ruined !"  exclaimed  the  baron,  for  the  first  time  per- 
mitting the  scorn  of  his  smile  to  wax  faint.  "Ruined  1 
Great  heaven!  the  viper  has  turned  at  last,  and  I  have 
lived  to  look  on  at  your  betrayal!" 

Jasper  stepped  back  slightly,  for  the  old  man  had 
turned  upon  him  with  uplifted  arm,  but  not  to  strike,  for 
it  fell  to  his  side  suddenly,  and  with  a  groan  he  sank 
against  the  balustrade. 

There  was  a  deadly  silence,  broken  by  the  due,  who, 
wiping  the  great  beads  of  perspiration  from  his  forehead, 
sprang  around  and  grasped  Adrien's  hand. 

"Adrien,"  he  cried,  "I  can  bear  it  no  longer;  give  this 
foul  thing  the  lie  and  let  me  fling  these  wretches  over  the 
terrace,  or  I  shall  go  mad!  I  swear  before  Heaven  that 
you  did  not  write — I  cannot  utter  it!  I  know  as  surely 
as  that  I  did  not  write  it  myself,  that  you  know  nothing 
of  the  cursed  signature.  Oh,  Adrien,  explain  it,  give 
them  the  lie.  Tell  that  old  man  ere  he  breaks  his  heart 
that  you  are  guiltless.  I  know  it — we  all  know  it,  but  to 
humor  us,  give  it  tongue!" 

Adrien  grasped  his  hand  with  a  smile  that  lit  up  his 
-whole  face,  then  looking  around,  said,  quietly: 

"I  did  not  write  it ;  I  know  nothing  of  it." 


Staunch  of  Heart.  185 

The  baron  sprang  forward  at  the  sound  of  his  voice, 
and  fell  upon  his  breast,  then,  as  if  ashamed  of  the  par- 
donable emotion,  turned  to  the  officer. 

"You  hear,  sir  ?  Mr.  Leroy  knows  nothing  of  this  mat- 
ter. He  denies  it — not  because  a  denial  is  necessary,  but 
because  his  friend  requests  it.  You  may  go." 

The  officer  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  sorry,  my  lord,  but  I  cannot  release  Mr.  Leroy  on 
such  terms.  My  instructions  were  far  too  strict.  Denial 
is  a  common  matter,  too;  and,  begging  pardon  for  the 
liberty,  my  lord,  I  think  an  alibi  would  have  proved  sat- 
isfactory. Mr.  Leroy  of  course  didn't  commit  the  for- 
gery, and  of  course  he  can  tell  you  where  he  was  at 
eight  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the  twenty-second " 

"Adrien,"  said  the  due,  "one  favor  I  ask — not  for  my- 
self, but  others,"  and  he  glanced  at  Constance  and  the 
baron.  "Tell  us  what  this  fellow  would  have  you.  Where 
were  you  at  eight  o'clock  on  the  twenty-second?" 

Adrien  remained  silent. 

The  due  grew  hot,  and  then  white  with  irritation  and 
suspense. 

"Think,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  in  a  quick,  impatient 
voice.  "At  the  club — the  theatre — (where  were  you? 
Don't  you  remember — have  you  forgotten?"  And  he 
stamped  his  foot  on  the  ground,  for  though  he  would 
have  laughed  to  scorn  any  assertion  of  his  friend's  guilt, 
and  would  have  thought  him  mad  if  he  had  even  confessed 
it  himself,  it  annoyed  him  to  see  Adrien  so  silent  when  the 
crowd  were  hanging  on  his  lips  and  devouring  him  with 
their  tyes. 

"Do  I  forget  ?  No ;  I  remember  where  I  was  at  eight 
o'clock  on  the  twenty-second,"  and  his  eyes  rested  on  the 
dark  ones  again. 

"Then,  for  Heaven's  sake,  tell  them!"  exclaimed  the 
due. 

"I  cannot,"  said  Adrien,  turning  with  a  sigfh. 

The  officer  shook  his  head,  made  a  signal  with  his  hand 
and,  as  if  by  magic,  the  four  men  closed  around  the 
kingly  form,  and  a  score  more  sprang  on  to  the  terrace 
and  surrounded  them. 


186  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

"In  the  Queen's  name,  stand  back  all!"  cried  the  of- 
ficer, and  amid  a  fearful  confusion  of  screams  and  excla- 
mations, the  officers  moved  on  to  the  head  of  the  terrace 
and  the  front  file  were  half  down  the  steps  when  a  voice 
cried  "Stop !"  and  a  man  with  a  bloated  face  and  blood- 
shot eyes  stumbled  up  the  steps  and  looked  savagely 
around. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  WONDERFUL  LIKENESS. 

Leaving  the  interrupted  procession  on  the  terrace  at 
Barminster,  we  must  return  to  the  riverside  village  of 
Weybridge. 

No  sooner  had  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  taken  his  depar- 
ture than  poor  little  Lucy  Ashford  sank  on  the  floor  and 
burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  So  great  had  been  the  strain 
that  she  was  completely  unnerved,  and  had  quite  forgot- 
ten the  likelihood  of  her  husband's  immediate  return  and 
Reah's  mysterious  disappearance. 

The  dim  cloud  of  apprehension  which  her  heart  had 
given  her  presentiment  of  had  burst  upon  her  head.  Mr. 
Jasper  Vermont,  the  strange  gentleman  who  held  her 
secret,  was  alive — ay,  and  more  than  that,  had  not  for- 
gotten nor  failed  to  threaten  her. 

Presently,  recalled  to  a  sense  of  her  position,  she 
jumped  up  and  called  to  Reah.  Then  she  remembered  that 
the  girl  had  disappeared,  and,  fearful  of  being  left  alone 
to  encounter  Mr.  Jasper,  whose  return  she  expected  mo- 
mentarily, she  ran  to  the  door,  calling  on  the  girl's  name 
in  a  paroxysm  of  nerveless  terror,  which  ended  at  last 
in  an  attack  of  hysterics,  in  the  midst  of  which  honest 
John  returned  to  find  her. 

With  an  exclamation  of  alarm  he  raised  her  from  the 
floor,  carried  her  upstairs,  and  ran  for  the  doctor. 

When  the  doctor  came  Lucy  had  relapsed  into  low 
fever,  and  was  talking  deliriously  of  an  inn  at  Canter- 
bury and  an  individual  by  the  name  of  Johann  Wilfer. 

Her  husband  paid  little  attention  to  her  wandering,  in- 
coherent sentences  in  the  first  excitement  of  his  anxiety ; 
but  presently,  as  they  took  distinct  form,  and  she  plainly 
confessed  the  one  error  of  her  life,  poor  John  recoiled 
from  the  bed  and  looked  around  him  with  a  bewildered, 
sorrow-stricken  air. 


i88  Staunch  of  Heart. 

All  the  little  strangenesses  in  his  wife's  conduct  and 
manner  were  now  explained.  He  had  been  deceived! 
She  had  loved  another  before  him,  and  at  the  bitter  truth 
John  Ashford  hid  his  face  in  the  homely  counterpane  and 
sobbed  like  a  child. 

Honest  tears  bring  relief  and  soften  the  heart. 
When  Lucy  Ashford  awoke  she  found  her  husband's 
eyes,  still  wet  with  tears,  looking  at  her  with  pitying 
tenderness. 

"John,"  she  said,  faintly,  "you  know  all?"  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

"Yes,  dear,  you've  told  me  all.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
before?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  open  eyes  in  wonder.  Was  that 
all  the  reproach  his  righteous  anger  would  deal  out  to 
her?  Could  it  be  possible  that,  knowing  all,  dear,  good 
John  loved  her  still,  and  would  still  call  her  his  wife? 
Oh,  yes!  and  for  testimony  thereof  his  arm  was  around 
her  neck  and  his  kiss  of  forgiveness  upon  her  lips. 

"John,"  she  said,  crying  with  ineffable  thankfulness 
and  peace,  "send  for  poor  father;  it  will  be  new  life  to 
him  to  know  that  this  dreadful  weight  is  off  my  heart, 
and  that  you,  knowing  what  a  bad  woman  I  have  been, 
still  call  me  your  little  Lucy !  Oh,  John,  John,  fetch  him 
—fetch  him!" 

John  kissed  her,  and  without  a  word  put  on  his  hat. 
If  his  little  Lucy  had  asked  him  to  bring  her  a  chip  from 
the  tombstone  of  Franklin  at  the  North  Pole  kind-hearted 
John  would  have  started  off  to  procure  it  as  unhesitat- 
ingly. 

He  borrowed  -a  horse  and  a  rickety  dogcart  from  a 
neighbor  and  started  off  in  the  starless  night  for  Mr. 
Harker,  leaving  word  with  the  doctor — who  with  his 
own  hands  was  preparing  a  cooling  draught  in  the  little 
parlor — that  when  Reah  returned  she  was  to  sit  with  and 
cheer  up  Lucy  until  he  came  back  from  London. 

Now  it  happened  that  Mr.  Harker  was  late  at  the  office 
that  night,  bending,  sad  and  wrinkled  and  wan,  over  his 
repugnant  tasks.  Sigh  after  sigh  broke  from  his  thin 
lips  as  he  arranged  the  gins  and  snares  for  the  unsuspect- 
ing victims  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont,  his  master,  had  set  his 
heart  on  catching. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  189 

It  was  hard,  very  hard  to  be  the  tool  of  such  a  merci- 
less fiend,  to  be  the  servant  of  such  a  master  of  deceit, 
villainy  and  fraud ;  but  so  greatly  did  the  father  love  his 
erring  child  that  he  would  scarce  have  hesitated  in  com- 
mitting murder  had  Jasper  Vermont  set  that  crime  as  a 
price  of  his  forbearance  and  silence.  He  would  purchase 
his  daughter's  safety  and  happiness  with  his  heart's  blood 
if  need  be. 

With  this  resolve  he  worked  on,  setting  in  order  the 
various  accounts  which  Mr.  Jasper  would  require  to  be 
laid  before  him  on  the  morrow,  and  entering  in  a  book 
concise  histories  of  the  debts  and  difficulties  which  placed 
dozens  of  Mr.  Jasper's  acquaintances  in  his  power. 

A  knock  at  the  door  startled  and  aroused  him  from  his 
task.  Hastily  shutting  the  intricate  ledger  and  covering 
the  deeds  and  documents  with  a  large  sheet  of  paper,  the 
old  man  arose  and  opened  the  door. 

It  was  John  Ashford,  and  at  the  sight  of  his  round, 
kindly  face  he  staggered  back,  clasped  the  table  with  one 
hand  and  gasped: 

"Lucy!" 

"AH  right — all  right,"  said  John,  reassuringly,  but  with 
a  quieter  voice  than  his  usual  one ;  "don't  be  frightened. 
Mr.  Harker.  Sit  down.  It's  rather  sudden;  but  when 
she  says  'Go  and  fetch  father'  you  see  I  come  and  fetch 
you  directly." 

"Lucy  is  ill  ?"  said  Mr.  Harker,  trying  to  calm  himself, 
and  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 

John  nodded  and  sighed  and  glanced  at  Mr.  Barker's 
hat  and  coat. 

The  old  man  arose,  put  his  hat  on  and  nodded  at  the 
door. 

"Don't  tell  me  she's  very  ill,  John,'*  he  said,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,  "until  we  get  outside.  I'm  an  old  man,  John, 
and  she's  the  only  child  I've  got." 

John  helped  him  on  with  his  coat,  reassuring  him  the 
white. 

The  two,  after  having  locked  up  the  office,  started  for 
Weybridge. 

Until  they  had  left  the  London  streets  behind  and  the 
early  morning  had  revealed  the  beauties  of  the  road 


190  Staunch  of  Heart. 

neither  of  them  spoke  a  word;  then  John,  avoiding  all 
mention  of  Lucy's  secret,  told  the  old  man  of  how  he  had 
found  her  lying  on  the  floor. 

Mr.  Marker's  troubled  face  darkened  and  his  thin  hands 
went  up  to  his  mouth  in  a  thoughtful,  pondering  way. 
But  though  his  face  grew  darker,  and  an  angry,  resolute 
light  came  into  his  dim  eyes,  he  never  said  a  word. 

They  were  within  a  few  miles  of  Weybridge  when  John 
pulled  up  the  horse  with  an  exclamation  of  astonishment. 
In  the  act  of  turning  down  a  lane  a  few  yards  before  ( 
them  was  a  young  girl. 

After  a  moment  of  motionless  surprise  he  threw  the 
reins  to  Mr.  Harker's  knees,  leaped  from  the  cart,  ran 
after  the  girl  and  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"Maria,"  he  cried,  "what  are  you  doing  here,  my  girl  ? 
You  haven't  left  Lucy?"  reproachfully. 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  with  sorrowful,  questioning 
eyes. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  have.  I  am  going  to  London.  I 
can't  stay  with  you,  although  you  were  so  good.  Oh,  sir, 
let  me  go,  let  me  go." 

John  dropped  his  arm  and  shook  his  head  sadly. 
"Well,  my  girl,"  he  said,  "I  didn't  think  you  were  one 
of  that  sort,  to  leave  my  Lucy,  as  was  so  good  to  you 
when  she  was  ill  and  hadn't  a  soul  near  her." 

"Ill !"  said  Reah,  with  a  bewildered  look.  "She  was  not 
ill.  It  was  the  lady  with  him,"  and  she  shuddered,  "not 
your  wife." 

John  looked  at  her  as  if  he  thought  the  girl  had  taken 
leave  of  her  senses. 

"I  don't  know  what  lady  you  mean,  my  girl,"  he  said, 
"but  I  left  Lucy  ill,  very  ill,  and  waiting  for  you.  You 
see  I  didn't  think  you'd  run  away  and  leave  her  at  such  a 
moment.  But  you're  your  own  mistress,  my  poor  child, 
and  I  won't  stay  you,"  and  he  turned  and  walked  toward 
the  dogcart. 

Reah  followed  him  without  a  word,  and  he,  seeing  that 
she  did  so,  lifted  her  into  the  cart. 

No  sooner  had  he  done  so,  hbwtever,  that  Mr.  Harker 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  staring  at  her  with  startled  eyes, 
asked  Jofc»  who  she  was. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  191" 

"This,"  said  John,  forcing  him  into  his  seat  and  starting 
lii'e  horse,  "is  Maria,  a  friend  of  Lucy's.  Do  you  know 
her?" 

Mr.  Harker  shook  his  head,  but  still  kept  his  eyes  upon 
her. 

"Maria!"  he  repeated.  "A  friend  of  Lucy's!  Has  she 
no  other  name?  Where  does  she  come  from?" 

Neither  made  any  reply — John  because  he  could  not; 
Reah  because  she  seemed  perfectly  indifferent  to  both  his 
presence  and  his  agitation ;  and  the  old  man,  eyeing  her  at 
intervals,  muttered  in  his  dry  voice: 

"Wonderful  likeness — wonderful !  I  could  have  sworn 
Yet  it  cannot  be.  A  friend  of  Lucy's !" 

They  reached  Weybridge  and  Reah,  leaping  from  the 
dogcart,  ran  with  her  light,  half-savage  way  past  the  two 
men,  and  with  noiseless  feet  entered  Lucy's  room,  bending 
over  the  bed  and  taking  Lucy's  hand  with  a  grateful,  lov- 
ing glance,  as  much  as  if  to  implore  her  not  to  think  she 
had  forsaken  her. 

"They  have  come?"  said  Lucy. 

Reah  nodded,  and  John  and  Mr.  Harker  entered  at  the 
moment. 

"John,  dear,"  said  Lucy,  "leave  us  for  a  minute." 

John  stooped  and  kissed  her,  patting  her  hand  as  softly 
as  a  woman  might  have  done,  and  beckoning  to  Reah  to 
follow  him,  left  the  room. 

Half  an  hour  afterward  the  parlor  door  opened  and 
Mr.  Harker  entered. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  John,  starting  to  her  feet 
"Is  she  worse?" 

"No,"  said  the  old  man;  "thank  Heaven,  she  is  better! 
John  Ashford,  I  have  come  to  beg  your  forgiveness  on  my 
knees.  It  was  I  who  overcame  her  scruples  and  bade  her 
marry  you.  I  did  it  for  the  best.  I  did  it  that  she  might 
be  happy.  She  tells  me  you  have  forgiven  her;  but  can 
you  forgive  me?" 

John,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  caught  him  by  the  arm  and 
shook  his  hand. 

"You  did  it  for  her,"  he  said.  "I  have  nothing  to  for- 
give. If  my  poor  darling  had  only  plucked  up  courage 
and  told  me  all  the  hour  we  were  man  and  wife  she  would 


192  Staunch  of  Heart. 

have  learned  how  dearly  I  loved  her,  and  saved  you  both 
many  unhappy  years." 

"Bless  you,  John!"  said  the  old  man,  buttonmj*-  his 
coat,  "you  are  a  good  man.  Would  to  Heaven  we  had 
done  rightly  by  you  from  the  first!" 

"Well,  well,"  said  John,  "never  let  us  say  another  word, 
never  let  us  think  about  it  again.  And  now  may  1  go 
upstairs?  But  where  are  you  going?"  as  the  o)d.  man 
put  on  his  hat. 

"Back  to  London,"  said  Mr.  Harker,  in  his  dry  jc'ce, 
smiling  grimly.  "I  have  work  to  do,  an  account  to  settle, 
John,  for  Lucy  and  myself.  You  don't  know  all  yet, 
John;  you  don't  know,  you  never  will  know,  what  poor 
Lucy  and  I  have  suffered.  We've  been  slaves  all  these 
years,  trembling  and  shrinking  under  a  villain's  nod  arid 
frown.  Tve  sold  myself  to  a  demon,  who,  in  consideration 
of  my  services,  of  my  body  and  soul,  John,  promised  to 
keep  his  talons  from  my  poor  Lucy.  He  knew  of  her 
misfortune,  and  he  threatened  to  let  the  world  and  you, 
John,  know  of  it,  too,  if  I  didn't  bind  myself  to  him  and 
do  his  villainous  work.  I  have  done  it,  John,  for  years. 
I  have  endured  shame  and  agony  unspeakable  that  my 
darling's  secret  might  be  safe.  I  have  been  his  tool  and  his 
scapegoat.  Men  whom  he  has  ruined  through  me  have 
spat  upon  and  cursed  me.  I,  an  old  man,  going  to  the 
grave,  have  earned  the  title  of  usurer  and  thief !  All  this 
I  have  done  and  suffered  that  he  should  never  blight  my 
child's  happiness  by  his  presence.  He  has  broken  the 
contract ;  he  was  here  yesterday,  John,  and  with  his  fiend- 
ish face  and  threats  nearly  killed  her.  New  his  power  is 
gone!  Lucy  is  free  and  I  am  free.  He  has  done  that 
which  he  had  sworn  not  to  do.  Now  I  take  my  turn,  and 
for  every  tear  he  has  wrung  from  my  darling's  eyes  I 
will  wring  a  groan  from  his  black  heart !  Don't  speak  to 
me,  John.  Go  up  to  Lucy.  If  she  lives  or  if  she  dies  I'll 
avenge  her !" 

Then  before  the  astounded  John  could  utter  a  word  he 
left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"FORGER  AND  VILLAIN." 

&t  the  singular  and  unprepossessing  appearance 
the  strange  man  presented,  the  officer  who  had  the  com- 
mand of  the  arresting  party  moved  closer  to  Adrien  and 
looked  around  at  the  baron  for  an  explanation. 

But  his  stern,  agitated  face  showed  no  signs  of  recog- 
nition, and  the  remainder  of  the  group  seemed  stricken 
with  such  bewilderment  of  the  faculties  that  Mr.  Jasper 
Vermont  ventured  with  a  properly  composed  face  to  step 
forward. 

"What  do  you  want,  my  man?"  he  asked,  glancing  at 
the  dissipated,  low-bred  face  with  grave  eyes. 

"I  don't  want  you,"  retorted  the  man,  roughly  eyeing 
Mr.  Vermont  from  the  corner  of  his  eyes.  "I  don't  know 
you.  I  want  Mr.  Adrien  Leroy!" 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  officers  moved  slightly  and 
disclosed  the  tall,  princely  figure. 

The  man  sprang  forward  as  if  about  to  strike  Adrien, 
but  the  duke  struck  him  across  the  chest  and  bore  him 
back. 

"Who  is  this  ruffian?"  he  exclaimed,  in  his  broken  Eng- 
lish, 'his  pale  face  crimsoning  at  this  fresh  indignity  of- 
fered to  his  well-beloved  friend. 

Then  he  added,  turning  to  the  officer: 

"Have  you  brought  all  the  scum  of  the  earth  at  your 
back,  sir?" 

The  officer  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  know  this  man,"  he  answered,  "or  his  business. 
Do  you,  Mr.  Leroy?"  he  asked,  touching  his  cap  with 
unconscious  respect  to  his  prisoner. 

"I  do,"  said  Adrien,  in  the  low,  restrained  voice  in 
which  he  had  spoken  since  his  arrest. 

''I  should  think  you  did!"  exclaimed  the  man,  stand- 
ing forward  and  staring  around.  "It  ain't  likely  as  you'll 
forget  me,  nor  me  you  " 


194  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"By  Heavens !"  exclaimed  the  duke,  enraged  beyond  en- 
durance by  the  man's  insolence,  "this  is  too  much." 

And  he  strode  forward. 

"Stop!"'  said  Adrien  in  a  sad  voice.  "Let  him  speak. 
Come,  sir,  speak  to  the  point  and  quickly.  What  do  you 
want  of  me?" 

"What  I  asked  a  month  ago!"  answered  the  man,  in- 
solently, glancing  around  to  see  what  effect  his  words 
had  had,  and  letting  his  eyes  rest  for  a  moment  upon 
Mr.  Jasper  Vermont,  who  stood  quietly  regarding  him, 
his  face  full  of  sympathy  for  his  friend  and  benefactor, 
whose  troubles  appeared  never  ending. 

The  crowd  pressed  closer  than  at  fever  pitch. 

What  new  phase  of  the  scandal  was  this  fellow  in  seedy 
clothes  and  swollen  face  about  to  introduce? 

"I  want  my  niece,  my  girl,  Reah !"  said  the  man,  "my 
girl  as  you  took  from  her  home  and  deceived.  That's 
what  I  want,  Mr.  Leroy,  and  the  sooner  I  has  it  the  better 
it'll  be  for  all  parties." 

Adrien  looked  at  him  with  darkened  brow,  then  he 
turned  to  the  duke,  sorrowfully. 

"This  man,"  he  said,  "has  a  fancied  grievance  against 
me ;  will  you  do  me  the  last  act  of  kindness  that  will  be  in 
your  power,  and  hear  what  he  has  to  say?  Tell  him  I 
know  nothing  of  his  niece " 

"That's  false,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Wilfer,  savagely,  inter- 
rupting him. 

The  duke  raised  his  arm,  but  an  officer  caught  it,  and 
with  a  warning  gesture  forced  Mr.  Wilfer  out  of  reach. 

"So  it  is  false!"  retorted  Mr.  Wilfer,  looking  fiercely 
around,  still  with  a  cunning  underglance  at  Mr.  Jasper's 
troubled  face  as  if  seeking  his  approval.  "He  does  know 
where  she  is,  for  he  took  her  from  her  home,  and  she 
hasn't  been  seen  since  she  entered  his  chambers !  If  she's 
alive,  where  is  she?  and  if  she  ain't,  then  this  high  and 
mighty  swell,  as  is  dressed  like  a  king,  is  nothing  better 
than  a  murderer!" 

A  thrill  of  horror  ran  through  the  throng,  Mr.  Jasper 
flung  his  hands  before  his  face  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight 
of  his  friend's  face. 

Constance,  breaking  from  the  baron's  determined  grasp, 


Staunch  of  Heart.  195 

moved  with  quiet  dignity  to  Adrien's  side  again  and  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  arm,  while  a  tall  figure,  dressed  in 
scarlet  robes  that  were  half  concealed  by  a  large  blue 
domino,  moved  a  step  nearer  to  that  part  of  the  crowd  and 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  Mr.  Wilfer. 

"Let  him  answer  that!"  continued  Mr.  Wilfer,  loudly, 
and  with  the  air  of  a  painfully  injured  and  indignant  man. 
"Let  him  answer  that,  and  if  he  goes  to  deny  it  let  him 
look  at  this,"  and  he  drew  Adrien's  watch  from  a  tattered 
pocket  in  his  coat.  "Perhaps  he'll  say  that  this  ain't  his 
watch!  But  there's  plenty  here  as  can  recognize  it,  if 
there  wasn't  his  coat  of  arms  on  the  back.  Where  did  I 
get  this?  No,  I  didn't  steal  it,"  he  continued,  fiercely,  in 
answer  to  a  muttered  question  by  the  officer.  "He  give 
me  this,  flung  it  to  me  like  to  a  dog,  to  hold  my 
tongue.  Ask  him,  some  of  you,  if  he  remembers  the 
night  I  met  him  in  the  park !  A  mighty  fine  gentleman, 
a  regular  honorable  gentleman,  who  robs  a  poor  man  of 
his  innocerft  niece,  and  when  he's  asked  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  her  flings  me  his  watch  to  stop  my  tongue  I" 

Mr.  Wilfer  paused,  not  for  lack  of  invective,  but  for 
want  of  breath. 

The  crowd  surged  to  and  fro,  and  half-spoken  exclama- 
tions of  astonishment,  wonder  and  horror  broke  from  a 
hundred  lips. 

Could  it  be  possible  that  Adrien  Leroy,  the  soul  of 
honor,  the  man  whom  they  had  been  adoring  through 
three  brilliant  seasons,  could  be  the  dishonorable  scoundrel 
which  this  dirty,  drunken-looking  man  proclaimed  him? 
Impossible !  But  the  watch ! 

And  the  masked  faces  turned  to  one  another  with  pain- 
ful doubt  and  distress  which  formed  in  an  audible 
"Hush!"  as  Adrien,  averting  his  eyes  from  Lady  Con- 
stance's face,  turned  to  the  baron,  who  had  arisen  and 
was  sternly  regarding  him. 

"Do  you  believe  this  man's  vile  story,  sir?"  he  asked,  in 
clear  tones. 

"Believe  it!"  interrupted  Mr.  Wilfer,  who  was  deter- 
mined on  playing  his  part.  "He  can't  be  off  it !  Here's 
the  watch.  A  hundred  people  can  prove  as  they  saw  my 
girl " 


196  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Silence!"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  coming  forward  as  if  un- 
able to  endure  the  scene  any  longer.  "Silence !" 

Mr.  Wilfer,  whom  no  one  else  as  yet  succeeded  in 
silencing,  was  wordless  in  a  moment. 

Mr.  Jasper  turned  to  Adrien,  and  commenced  speaking 
in  a  low  tone. 

"Speak  out,"  said  Adrien,  regarding  him  with  a  steady 
look.  "Speak  out,  if  you  are  the  friend  I  have  taken  you 
for!  I  have  no  secrets  from  any  here.  Friends  or  ene- 
mies, they  may  hear  all." 

Jasper  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"If  you  will  have  it  so,  Adrien,"  he  said,  "I  was  going 
to  implore  you  to  give  this  fellow  his  answer  and  let  him 
go.  Tell  him  you  know  nothing  of  this  girl  Reah,  and 
relieve  us  from  such  an  accusation.  Let  me  tell  him  that 
you  never  saw  her." 

Adrien  smiled  sadly. 

"That  would  not  be  true,"  he  said.    "I  have  seen  her." 

Lady  Constance  raised  her  pale  face  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  startled  sort  of  incredulity. 

"Ah,  perhaps  you'll  admit  taking  her  to  your  cham- 
bers!" sneered  Mr.  Wilfer. 

"I  will,"  said  Adrien.  "I  found  her  starving  with 
hunger  and  cold  in  the  street,  to  which  she  had  fled  from 
the  brutal  violence  of  her  uncle,  whose  blows  had  left 
their  vile  marks  upon  her  arms.  I  took  her  to  warmth 
and  food ;  that  is  all  the  wrong  I  did  her,  as  Heaven  is  my 
witness,  and  as  she  herself  would  be  were  she  here. 
But,  as  you  doubtless  know,  she  left  my  chambers  while 
I  was  walking  the  streets,  which  I  did  that  not  even  s 
breath  of  suspicion  could  rest  upon  her.  You  have  your 
answer." 

Mr.  Wilfer,  after  glancing  at  Mr.  Vermont  with  the 
same  hidden  cunning,  burst  into  a  discordant  laugh. 

"Very  well,  but  if  your  friends  ain't  the  flats  they're 
supposed  to  be  you  won't  get  them  to  believe  that !  Is  it 
a  likely  story?  If  she'd  left  you,  run  away  as  you  say, 
where  would  she  go  but  back  to  her  own  home,  where 
she'd  always  been  treated  kindly?  Wouldn't  she  have 
turned  up  before  this,  even  if  it  had  been  in  the  dead- 
house  ?" 


Staunch  of  Heart.  197 

Adrien  made  a  gesture  of  weary  impatience  and  turned 
to  Constance. 

But  Constance,  whose  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  his, 
dropped  her  hand  from  his  arm  and  staggered  back. 

"Adrien!"  she  wailed,  in  so  low  a  tone  that  only  he 
could  catch  it,  "I  could  have  borne  all  but  this!" 

He  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  suddenly  checking  him- 
self, motioned  to  the  officer  that  he  was  ready  to  proceed. ! 

But  the  officer,  after  regarding  Mr.  Wilfer  thoughtfully 
for  a  moment,  called  one  of  his  men  aside  and  gave  him 
some  command. 

The  detective  immediately  crossed  over  to  Johann  Wil- 
fer and  laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
.    "What's  this?"  exclaimed   Mr.  Wilfer,  starting  and 
looking  around  indignantly.     "What  does  this  mean? 
What  have  I  done?" 

And  he  looked  appealingly  around,  and  at  last  at  Mr. 
Jasper. 

"It  means  that  you  will  have  to  come  with  us,"  said 
the  detective.  "If  your  story's  got  anything  in  it  I  reckon 
there  will  be  another  count  in  the  indictment,  and  Mr. 
Leroy  will  have  another  charge  preferred  against  him 
besides  forgery.  So  come  along,  my  friend." 

But  Mr.  Wilfer  struggled,  and  the  crowd  pouring 
through  the  doorway  in  its  eagerness  to  catch  every  word 
and.  action  of  this  life  drama,  surrounded  the  center 
group,  murmuring  excitedly. 

Another  officer  left  Adrien's  escort  and  came  to  help  his 
companion.  Wilfer  in  an  instant  felt  the  handcuffs  slip- 
ping over  his  dirty  wrists,  and  shouted  for  help. 

"What  have  I  done  ?"  he  shouted.  "Is  a  man  to  be  took 
into  custody  and  illtreated  because  he  comes  after  his 
niece?  I've  done  nothing  agin'  the  law,  if  that  swell  has. 
Put  me  down,  or  I'll  make  it  hot  for  you." 

"Lift  him  up,"  said  one  constable  to  the  other. 

They  raised  the  slouching  figure  from  the  floor  and 
dragged  it  along  between  them. 

"Stop  a  moment!"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  with  whose  ar- 
rangements the  last  move  threatened  to  clash.  "Do  not 
hurt  the  poor  fellow.  He  is  out  of  his  mind,  I  think — or 
— or — something  is  wrong.  Put  him  on  his  feet  until 
you  get  a  warrant  from  his  lordship." 


198  Staunch  of  Heart. 

The  baron,  who  was  supporting  Constance  upon  his 
arm,  turned  away  with  a  look  of  scornful  repudiation, 
which  Mr.  Jasper  received  with  unmoved  countenance. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "take  him  away,  and  keep  him  safely, 
that  he  may  be  punished  if  his  story  is  not  true." 

"If !"  cried  the  duke,  who  was  turning  to  leave  the  ter- 
race in  Adrien's  wake;  "if,  Mr.  Vermont!  Take  heed! 
There  are  not  wanting  those  who  will  avenge  your  bene- 
factor for  every  light  word,  though  it  come  from  so  con- 
temptible a  creature  as  yourself." 

Jasper  turned  up  his  eyes. 

"Ah,  my  duke,"  he  said,  "it  is  well  in  you  who  have 
ruined  my  poor  friend !  It  is  easy  to  storm  over  the  ashes 
which  alone  remain  of  the  fire  your  own  hands  lit !" 

"Miscreant !"  cried  the  baron,  thrusting  Constance  from 
him  and  striding  to  Jasper. 

"Stand  back,  my  lord,"  said  the  duke,  "and  leave  him 
to  me.  There  is  some  fiendish  plot  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this.  I  have  my  suspicions ;  should  they  prove  true,  I  will 
deal  this  fellow  punishment  with  a  liberal  hand.  Go,  sir ! 
The  man  who  has  stood  by  your  unworthy  side  when  none 
other  could  longer  do  so  is  where  you  cannot  follow  him 
or  trouble.  Take  your  presence  from  this  house,  which  it 
defiles!" 

Mr.  Jasper  smiled  sadly,  and  turned  around  upon  the 
crowd. 

"You  wrong  me,  duke,  and  through  me  him  whom  you 
pretend  to  love.  I  have  stood  his  true  friend  and  kept 
this  ruin  at  bay  for  months  and  months,  when  none  other 
could  have  done  so.  But  this  is  the  gratitude  which  one 
must  expect  for  the  discharge  of  friendship's  office.  Poor 
Adrien  is  taken  from  the  world,  you  think,  and  it  is  of 
course  high  time  to  remove  from  its  false  surface  his 
humble  friend,  Jasper  Vermont." 

"Friend !"  said  the  duke.  "Deadliest  and  most  poison- 
ous of  foes  I  believe  you  to  be.  Begone,  while  you  are 
yet  safe!" 

"Begone,  sir!"  echoed  the  baron.  "If  I  find  you  on 
my  grounds  in  an  hour  hence  I  will  thrash  you  within  an 
inch  of  your  life." 

Jasper  Vermont's  face  grew  livid,  and,  with  a  clinch- 


Staunch  of  Heart.  199 

ing  of  the  hand  that  struck  his  carefully  cut  nails  far  into 
his  soft  palms,  he  strode  forward  and  confronted  the 
baron  and  the  motley  throng  at  his  back. 

"Your  grounds,  Baron  Leroy!  First  tell  me  where  I 
shall  find  them!  Your  grounds!  Ha,  ha!"  and  he 
laughed  a  quiet,  sinister  laugh.  "You  have  no  grounds, 
not  a  single  inch  in  which  to  hide  your  head.  Barminster 
Castle  is  in  the  hands  of  a  money-lender ;  these  lands  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  stretch  are  the  property  of  Mr.  Harker. 
the  Jewish  capitalist.  The  very  shoes  in  which  you  stand 
are  his  property  by  right  of  countless  bills  and  deeds 
which  your  son,  Adrien  Leroy,  has  made  over  to  him !" 

Speechless  amazement  rendered  every  soul  silent. 

"Madman !"  gasped  the  baron,  clasping  Constance,  who 
had  fainted,  to  his  heart. 

"No,  no !"  laughed  Mr.  Vermont.  "It  is  not  I  who  am 
the  madman,  but  you,  hoary-headed  idiot,  who  trusted 
your  wealth  to  your  boy-idiot  before  it  was  his  by  right ! 
You  should  have  waited  until  death  had  removed  you 
from  the  earth  which  you  and  yours  have  encumbered  so 
long  ere  you  gave  your  beloved  Adrien  full  power  over 
the  kingly  Barminster,  for  he,  with  kingly  lavishness,  has 
melted  every  stone  of  it  in  the  cup  of  pleasure  and  poured 
out  the  costly  draught  at  the  feet  of  his  parasites  and  flat- 
terers. Look  around  you,  my  lord  baron,  and  behold  his 
friends !  Friends  ?  leeches,  rather,  who  have  sucked  him 
dry  of  every  precious  golden  drop.  Look  at  them,  dressed 
like  fools  at  a  fair,  look  at  them,  and  while  you  curse 
them,  one  and  all,  as  the  causes  of  your  ruin,  call  them 
false  friends — and  not  me,  who  to  the  last  will  stand  by 
Adrien  Leroy,  spendthrift,  forger  and  villain!" 

As  the  vile  words  left  his  lips,  the  baron  sprang  at  him. 

But  Mr.  Jasper,  not  unprepared  for  such  a  result  of  his 
savage  invectives,  darted  behind  a  statue,  and  pointed  to 
the  step,  up  which  half  a  dozen  men  with  every  appear- 
ance of  sheriff's  officers  were  hastily  mounting. 

"Here  are  the  officer's  men  in  possession,  my  lord,  to 
inform  you  of  that  which  I  would  have  broken  to  you 
more  quietly  but  for  the  hard  words  you  were  pleased  to 
bestow  on  me." 

"Villain!"  said  the  duke.  "I  knew  this  was  some  vile 


2OO  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

plot.  You  have  had  the  management  of  the  estate ;  h  is 
you  who  have  brought  all  this  about." 

Jasper  smiled  sardonically. 

"Say  rather,  your  grace,  that  it  is  I  who  have  con- 
tinually given  warning  of  itagfjonfiscation.  Ask  Adrien 
Leroy  himself,  if  you  still  doTOt*fSg^hether  I  have  not 
constantly  implored  him  to  relinquish,  to  give  up  at  least 
some  of  his  many  ruinous  pleasures,  to  deny  himself  at 
least  one  extravagance." 

"Lord  Leroy,  Baron  of  Barminster,"  said  one  of  the 
men,  coming  forward  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  taking 
no  notice  whatever  of  the  maskers  who  thronging  around 
presented  a  startling  scene. 

"I  am  he,"  said  the  baron,  hoarsely. 

"A  writ,  my  lord,"  said  the  man,  "at  the  suit  of  John 
Harker,  of  Basinghall  Street,  city.  I  beg  your  lordship 
to  understand  that  I  am  in  possession  of  the  castle,  and 
to  issue  orders  that  none  of  your  friends  leave  the  place 
without  being  searched,  to  prevent  the  removal  of  valu- 
ables." 

A  cry  of  indignant  astonishment  broke  from  the  crowd, 
which  instantly  surged  forward,  carrying  to  the  front  the 
tall  figure  of  the  Cleopatra,  whose  domino  had  been  torn 
from  her  and  who  stood  revealed  in  all  her  magnificence. 

"Keep  back,"  shouted  the  man.  "No  use,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  our  men  are  at  all  entrances.  Quite  im- 
possible to  pass.  Keep  back,  please." 

The  crowd  surged  back,  the  men  took  up  their  position 
right  across  the  head  of  the  staircase,  and  proceeded  to 
form  a  guard  of  exit,  leaving  a  narrow  passage  through 
which  the  guests  were  requested  in  all  their  costly  finery 
to  pass  in  twos  and  threes. 

The  baron,  stupefied  beneath  this  last  indignity,  looked 
around  him  with  senseless  eyes,  his  grasp  of  Constance 
relaxed,  and  he  sank  on  to  one  of  the  stone  seats. 

He  was  surrounded  by  such  men  as  the  marquis,  Pom- 
frey  and  Paxhorn  immediately,  while  others  ran  after 
the  duke,  who  had  hurried  after  Adrien. 

Constance  looked  around  with  that  fearful  sense  of  im- 
potence which  overcomes  one  placed  in  such  a  position. 
Then  her  eye  caught  Jasper  Vermont's,  where  it  looked 


Staunch  of  Heart.  201 

down  pitilessly  from  the  balustrade.  With  a  light,  quick 
step  she  sprang  to  his  side  and  grasped  his  arms. 

"Jasper  Vermont,"  she  breathed  painfully,  "this  is 
your  work,  I  feel  assured  of  it.  You  have  some  motive, 
some  object.  Tell  me,  hj$re,  before  another  passes,  what 
that  object  is,  andrif.it  be  possible  to  satisfy  it  it  shall  be 
satisfied.  We  are  in  your  power,  I  believe,  though  you 
would  have  us  think  otherwise.  Speak  quickly,  and  tell 
me  the  price  you  exact  for  a  release  from  it." 

He  looked  at  her  beauty,  heightened  to  a  pitch  which 
it  had  never  attained  to  ere  that  moment,  and  his  eyes 
flashed. 

"Come  aside,"  he  said. 

Constance  hesitated  for  a  moment,  looked  back  at  the 
motionless  figure  of  the  baron,  and  then  followed  Jasper 
Vermont  into  the  shade. 

"You  ask  the  price  I  require  for  releasing  my  friend 
from  these  ugly  predicaments.  How  do  you  know  that  I 
can  relieve  him?  No,  do  not  answer.  I  may  be  able 
to  do  so,  or  I  may  not.  If  I  were  able  I  would  require 
as  recompense  for  such  service  no  less  a  gift  than  that  of 
Lady  Constance's  hand." 

Constance  clasped  the  stone  balustrade  and  looked  up 
in  his  smooth  and  now  sternly  set  face.  She  was  no  or- 
dinary woman,  and  required  only  a  moment  to  grasp  the 
whole  string  of  facts  and  possibilities.  To-night  she  had 
discovered  that  she  was  capable  of  acts  of  which  she  had 
until  then  thought  herself  utterly  incapable.  She  could 
love,  and  she  could  make  a  vast,  noble  sacrifice.  For  a 
moment  she  turned  her  face  to  the  direction  in  which' 
her  love  had  been  led,  then  she  put  her  hand  upon  Jas- 
per's arm. 

"You  will  save  them  both  ?"  she  said. 

"I  will,"  he  replied.  "You  agree  to  provide  the  re- 
ward?" 

"I  do,"  she  said ;  then  without  another  word  she  turned 
from  him  and  walked  back  to  the  baron. 

Jasper  Vermont  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  powerless  to 
grasp  the  sense  of  his  great,  marvelous  bliss,  then  with  a 
step  that  was  for  the  first  time  tremulous  and  unsteady  he 
Came  forward.  As  he  did  so  the  curtains  at  the  back  were 


2Q2  Staunch  of  Heart. 

pushed  aside,  the  numerous  guests,  who  were  being  forced 
in  twos  and  threes  through  the  line  of  sheriff's  officers, 
parted  suddenly,  and  a  thin,  bent  old  man,  dressed  in  a 
well-worn  black  suit,  and  leading  a  young  girl,  whose 
face,  notwithstanding  the  olive  hue,  showed  unmistakable 
traces  of  that  fell  disease — consumption — stepped  feebly 
on  to  the  terrace. 

For  a  moment  their  presence  seemed  unnoticed,  but 
the  next  an  exclamation  broke  from  Jasper  Vermont's 
lips,  and  one  of  the  officers  looking  up  caught  sight  of  the 
old  man,  touched  his  hat  and  said : 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Harker?" 

No  sooner  had  the  name  passed  the  man's  lips  than 
every  eye  was  turned  upon  the  newcomer,  and  the  baron, 
rising,  stood  and  confronted  the  person  at  whose  suit  he 
had  been  arrested. 

The  old  man  looked  around  with  his  small,  sharp  eyes 
until  they  rested  on  Jasper  Vermont,  then  he  raised  his 
arm  and  pointed  at  him. 

"Mr.  Jasper  Vermont,  I  have  come  to  resign  my  situ- 
ation, and  gain  my  freedom." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"I'VE  HAD  MY  REVENGE." 

Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  started  at  the  old  man*s  words 
and  made  as  if  he  were  about  to  wave  him  back,  but  his 
hand  dropped  to  his  side  again  with  the  suddenness  of 
astonishment  as  Adrien  Leroy's  tall  form  towered  behind 
the  bent  one  of  the  old  man,  and  the  duke,  with  flashing 
eyes  and  compressed  lips,  took  his  place  beside  him. 

The  baron  looked  from  one  to  the  other;  Lady  Con- 
stance raised  her  head,  then  stood  motionless  and  pale  as 
a  statue. 

Mr.  Harker  looked  around  with  his  keen  eyes  and 
seemed  to  read  every  face  with  a  comprehensive  glance ; 
then,  with  a  haughty,  dry  bow  to  the  baron,  he  said: 

"I  am  the  Mr.  Harker  who  has  instituted  these  pro- 
ceedings, my  lord." 

The  baron  opened  his  lips,  but  the  old  man,  with  a  firm 
but  respectful  gesture,  continued  before  he  could  speak: 

"I  hold  the  bond  which  your  son  is  charged  with  forg- 
ing ;  I,  also,  am  the  money-lender  at  whose  suit  this  writ 
on'  your  person  and  Barminster  Castle  has  been  issued. 
You  may  wish  to  know — your  indignant  scorn  assures  me 
that  you  will  insist  upon  knowing — by  what  means  I  have 
become  possessed  of  this  power.  My  lord,  I  am  here  to 
give  you  the  information." 

With  a  dry  cough  he  took  from  his  breast  a  roll  of 
papers  and  approached  one  of  the  small  tables  which 
stood  on  the  terrace. 

A  breathless  silence,  broken  only  by  the  quick  breath- 
ing of  the  baron,  fell  on  all. 

The  old  man,  with  slow  precision,  unfastened  the  roll, 
and  looked  around. 

"Is  Mr.  Adrien  Leroy  here?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  here,"  answered  Adrien,  coming  forward  and 
standing  beside  the  table  with  grave  composure. 

*» 


204  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"This  matter  concerns  you  most  nearly,  sir,"  the  old 
man  said.  "I  pray  you  give  it  your  best  attention." 

Adrien  inclined  his  head. 

"I  am  listening,"  he  said,  raising  his  eyes  to  the  old 
man's  face  sternly,  then  turning  them  to  Reah  with  a  sad 
but  kind  smile,  where  she  stood  by  the  old  man's  side 
looking  on  the  ground  with  an  absorbed  gaze. 

"Five  years  ago,"  said  Mr.  Harker,  "my  master — for 
I  am  only  a  servant,  a  machine,  acting  under  instructions 
— my  master  commanded  me  to  purchase  all  the  bills 
bearing  the  signature  of  'Adrien  Leroy.'  Furthermore  I 
received  his  instructions  to  lend  money  in  any  amount  to 
those  who  brought  that  same  name  as  guarantee.  I  did 
so,  and  every  bill  and  liability  which  you  contracted  either 
by  your  own  or  your  father's  name  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  man  I  represent.  This  man,  my  master,  was  your 
friend,  and  by  his  matchless  ingenuity  and  marvelous 
cunning  he  turned  your  friendship  and  confidence  to  such 
account  that  in  a  few  months  from  the  period  of  which  I 
speak  he  had  acquired  the  unlimited  command  of  your 
immense  revenue.  All  matters  of  business,  every  deed, 
legal  instrument,  even  the  tradesmen's  bills,  passed 
through  his  hands.  So  thoroughly  did  he  gain  your  con- 
fidence that  you  trusted  him  to  an  extent  unparalleled  in 
the  history  of  knaves  and  their  dupes.  That  confidence 
he  abused.  To  how  great  an  extent  I  alone  can  prove, 
for  I  was  his  tool  and  slave,  and  held  his  secrets.  Not  a 
bill  was  paid  without  his  receiving  his  commission  and 
adding  to  its  amount. 

"He  it  was  who  lent  the  money  to  you  and  the  friends 
who  procured  the  use  of  your  name,  and  he  it  was  who, 
behind  the  screen  which  I  supplied,  gradually  yet  surely 
drew  you  and  hundreds  of  others  into  his  net.  What  ob- 
ject besides  that  of  gain  he  had  in  view  I  know  not,  but  it 
is  certain  that  nothing  but  your  ruin,  in  wealth  and  honor, 
would  satisfy  him,  and  accordingly  I  received  instruc- 
*ions  to  set  about  a  scheme  for  its  consummation. 

"Among  other  bills  we  held  was  one  presumably  in- 
dorsed by  the  Due  de  Rouen.  That  signature  was  a 
forgery,  a  clever  forgery  in  two  senses  of  the  word,  for  it 
imitated  the  duke's  and  your  own  handwriting." 


Staunch  of  Heart.  205 

Jasper  Vermont,  who  had  stood  speechless  with  aston- 
ishment up  to  this  moment,  here  sprang  forward,  but  Mr. 
Harker  looked  toward  the  duke,  who,  scarcely  waiting 
for  such  an  intimation,  quietly  seized  Mr.  Vermont's 
arms  and  pinned  him  against  the  terrace. 

Adrien  Leroy,  pale  even  to  the  lips,  without  taking  his 
eyes  from  the  old  man's  face,  said  in  a  low,  constrained 
voice : 

"Go  on." 

"That  double  forgery  was  executed  by  my  employer's 
hand,  and  I  received  instructions  to  charge  you,  Mr. 
Adrien  Leroy,  with  the  crime.  The  particular  day  fixed  on 
by  my  master  as  that  on  which  you  were  supposed  to  have 
perpetrated  the  fraud  was  one  of  which,  for  some  reasons 
involving  another  person's  honor,  you  could  give  no  ac- 
count. Your  carriage  was  seen  at  the  door  of  my  office ; 
I  was  prepared  to  swear  that  you  received  the  money  into 
your  own  hands,  and  on  that  day.  Our  evidence  was 
complete,  and  your  dishonor  was  so  far  accomplished; 
but  at  the  forging  of  the  last  link  in  my  master's  chain 
of  villainy  there  comes  the  flaw.  The  poor  servile  tool 
whom  he  had  beneath  the  thumb,  and  trod  under  his  feet, 
suddenly  regained  then  the  freedom  he  had  bartered  for 
an  only  child's  sake.  The  terms  of  that  contract  he" — 
and  he  pointed  his  finger  at  the  livid  face  of  Jasper  Ver- 
mont— "will  for  the  sake  of  revenge,  no  doubt,  speedih? 
proclaim  to  the  world.  Their  proclamation  can  have  little 
pain  for  those  whom  it  concerns,  for  we  have  plucked  up 
courage  to  endure  it  manfully.  My  child  and  I,  thank 
Heaven,  are  freed  from  the  chains,  and  were  it  not  so  I 
could  no  longer  see  my  soul  drifting  to  perdition  in  this 
man's  service.  So  much  for  the  scheme  of  ruin  and  dis- 
honor. One  point  yet  remains  for  me  to  explain,  and  that 
is  soon  made  clear.  You  will  expect  some  proofs  of  my 
assertions.  I  give  them  to  you.  My  lord,  this  child  was 
found  by  my  daughter  and  sheltered  and  succored  by 
her.  She  is  a  waif,  and  no  one  knows  her  history.  That 
given  by  the  man  Wilfer  may  be  false,  and  concocted  for 
him  by  my  master,  whose  accomplice,  or  rather  tool,  he 
was.  This  much  of  it  is  true,  that  she  fled  from  the  man's 
brutality,  was  succored  by  Mr.  Leroy,  and  fled  from  his 


2o6  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

chambers  and  wandered  about  the  streets  until  my  daugh- 
ter found  her.  Providence  works  in  a  mysterious  way, 
and  ordered  that  the  plotter  should  fall  foul  of  his  own 
deep  pits.  This  girl,  on  one  of  her  wanderings  one  night, 
was  pushed  roughly  aside  by  his  master  as  he  left  the  thea- 
ter. That  night  he  dropped  a  roll  of  paper.  That  paper  con- 
tained not  only  the  outline  of  his  colossal  schemes,  written 
m  a  cipher,  but  carefully  scrawled  imitations  of  the  Due 
de  Rouen's  signature.  To  that  cipher  I  hold  the  key ;  the 
signatures  speak  for  themselves.  Read  by  the  aid  of  that 
cipher  the  whole  plot  is  revealed.  Read  it,  my  lord,  and 
own  that  I  have  been  justified  in  declaring  that  man"- 
here  with  the  same  mechanical,  dry  gesture,  he  pointed  to 
Mr.  Jasper  Vermont — "is  the  vilest  miscreant  breathing!" 

With  a  cry  of  joy  the  baron  grasped  the  paper,  but  was 
too  excited  to  read  it,  and  stood  looking  around  him  with 
flashing  eyes. 

Adrien  Leroy  looked  up,  very  pale,  and  sought  Con- 
stance's face,  but  it  was  averted,  and  her  trembling  hands 
were  placed  beyond  his  reach. 

"I  knew  it!"  cried  the  duke,  with  a  short  laugh  of  tri- 
umph. "I  knew  we  should  catch  the  snake !  And  now," 
pinning  Jasper  still  tighter  to  the  wall,  "what  have  you 
to  say  to  this,  you  Judas  ?" 

Mr.  Jasper  Vermont  put  up  his  fat  hand  and  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  his  brow,  then  laughed  a  dry,  husky 
laugh  of  defiance. 

"Unhand  me,  you  idiot,"  he  muttered,  wrenching  him- 
self from  the  duke's  hand.  "What  do  I  say  to  it?  I  say 
that  it's  all  false,  a  prettily  devised  story  to  shield  that  old 
rogue,  whom  I  never  saw  until  this  hour — who,  no  doubt, 
was  seen  plundering  my  foolish  friend  and  overshot  the 
mark.  As  to  the  paper — bah !  it  is  worthy  of  a  fabulist 
and  an  idiot.  What  have  I  to  do  with  plots  and  schemes  ? 
I  know  nothing  of  the  paper  or  the  bills,  which  I  will  be 
sworn  were  manufactured  and  procured  for  the  purpose. 
I  deny  the  whole  statement  emphatically ;  I  will  call  upon 
the  law  to  punish  you,  my  lord  duke,  in  company  with  this 
old  imposter,  for  your  insolence.  Your  name  is  forged, 
and  forsooth  to  screen  the  criminal  you  must  fix  on  me  for 
scapegoat !  If  he  is  not  the  forger,  if  he  was  not  at  this 


Staunch  of  Heart.  207 

old  villain's  office  on  the  twenty-first,  let  him  say  where  he 
was  on  that  day  and  that  hour !" 

He  paused,  glanced  keenly  at  Adrien,  whose  brow 
clouded  and  whose  lips  were  silent,  then  looked  around 
triumphantly. 

"You  see,"  he  said.  ''Can  any  tiling  disprove  this  old 
man's  story  more  conclusively  than  his  silence?  He  can- 
not say  where  he  was  on  that  day  and  hour." 

"He  cannot,  but  I  can,"  said  a  voice,  and  from  the  back 
of  the  excited  spectators  stepped  forth  Lady  Eveline.  Her 
niask  was  in  her  hand  and  her  face  was  deadly  pale,  but 
courageously  determined. 

"I  can  say  where  he  was.  He  was  with  me  at  Sunbury- 
on-the-Thames." 

A  murmur  of  astonishment  ran  through  the  crowd. 

"With  you !"  exclaimed  the  baron,  in  a  low  voice. 

"With  me,"  repeated  Lady  Eveline,  smiling  sadly  at 
Adrien's  hand,  which  was  raised  to  command  her  silence. 
"With  me.  My  lord,  if  a  woman  placed  as  I  am  placed 
at  this  moment  is  worthy  of  belief,  I  would  say  that  not- 
withstanding such  dark  appearances,  Lady  Eveline's 
honor  is  unsullied  save  by  the  breath  of  scandal,  which 
has  given  the  idle  folly  of  your  son's  flirtation  with  her  a 
sterner  name.  Be  that  as  it  may,  however  much  I  may 
lose  by  the  disclosure  I  have  made,  the  fact  is  true  and 
can  be  proved.  There  stand  two  witnesses  to  it — this  poor 
girl  and  this  good  woman."  And  she  laid  her  hand  upon 
Reah's  shoulder  and  looked  beyond  her  to  Lucy,  who, 
leaning  on  John's  arm,  was  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the 
curtains. 

Mr.  Harker  turned  with  surprise. 

"Is  that  the  lady  who  was  brought  to  the  cottage, 
Lucy?" 

Lucy's  faintly  breathed  "Yes"  was  heard  as  distinctly 
as  a  trumpet  call,  and  seemed  the  signal  for  a  general 
loosening  of  tongues;  in  the  midst  of  which  Mr.  Jasper 
made  a  stealthy  movement  toward  the  back. 

The  duke  with  a  gesture  warned  him  to  remain  where 
he  was,  and  the  baron,  who  had  been  standing  with  Con- 
stance's hand  in  his,  extended  the  other  on  his  son's 
shoulder. 


208  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"Have  you  no  word  for  him?"  he  said*  with  an  indica- 
tion toward  Jasper. 

Adrian  pressed  his  father's  hand,  and  for  the  first  time 
turned  to  the  latter. 

"One  word  only,"  he  said,  and  there  seemed  a  dead 
silence.  "I  would  ask  him  for  his  motive ;  I  cannot  be- 
lieve that  gain  was  the  sole  one.  Some  other  object  must 
have  inspired  him  with  such  deep  designs.  I  ask  him 
to  disclose  it." 

Jasper  raised  his  eyes  and  bit  his  bloodless  lips  in 
dogged  silence. 

"You  are  wasting  your  breath!"  said  a  voice,  and 
Adrien,  turning,  found  that  Haidee,  who  had  kept  from 
his  sight  until  now,  had  stepped  up  to  his  side. 

He  started  and  turned  away  from  her. 

She  laughed  at  his  movement  of  repugnance  and  looked 
around  defiantly. 

"You  waste  your  breath  uselessly  with  him,"  she  said, 
nodding  at  Jasper.  "He's  too  tough  a  fox  for  you  fine 
hunters.  I'm  one  of  his  own  sort  and  know  how  to  bring 
him  out.  Jasper,  my  fine  friend,  you  sold  me  as  well  as 
our  young  swell,  and  I  can  cut  up  rougher  than  he  does. 
You've  swindled  me  out  of  my  thousand  a  year,  and  I'm 
going  to  do  what  I  threatened.  You  want  to  know  what 
his  game  was,  do  you?"  she  said,  looking  at  Adrien. 
"I'll  tell  you.  He  wanted  your  money  and  your  sweet- 
heart! What,  that  makes  you  start !  Ha,  ha!  What  blind 
folks  some  of  you  grand  people  are!  Now  I  saw  that 
months  ago,  and,  what's  more,  I  saw  it  only  half  an 
hour  ago — ask  the  lady  herself  if  she  didn't  make  it 
plain  as  a  pike-staff!" 

Every  eye  was  turned  on  Lady  Constance,  who  looked 
at  Adrien  beseechingly  and  clung  closer  to  the  baron, 
whose  eyes  flashed  fire. 

"She  don't  deny  it,  you  see;  and  it  wouldn't  be  much 
use,  because  I  know  it.  That  was  the  object,  and  to  gain 
it  he  didn't  mind  how  many  he  sold — me  into  the  bar- 
gain, but  I  was  one  too  many,  and  now  I  can  do  my  bit 
in  the  way  of  splitting.  You  want  to  know  who  this  girl 
is?"  And  she  laid  her  hand  upon  Reah's  shoulder,  who 
shrank  beneath  her  touch.  "Well,  I  can  tell  you;  that 


Staunch  of  Heart.  209 

ruffian  Wilfer  was  no  more  her  uncle  than  I  am — not 
so  much,  for  I'm  her  aunt.  I  took  her  to  Wilfer,  and  paid 
for  her  keep,  regularly  and  handsomely.  She's  got  our 
warm  blood  in  her,  and  something  more,  as  you  can 
see."  And  she  nodded  to  the  girl's  consumptive,  hectic 
flush.  "She  takes  after  her  mother,  my  sister  Judith, 
who  thinks  she's  dead,  and  don't  know  that  Mr.  Jasper 
Vermont,  who  was  as  ignorant  as  she  is,  was  sharpening 
the  knife  to  cut  his  own  throat.  This  Wilfer  was  under 
his  thumb,  like  a  good  many  more,  and  was  put  up  to 
tell  that  ugly  story  of  Adrien  Leroy,  by  the  cute  Jasper. 
Ha!  ha!  I've  lost  my  money,  perhaps,  but  I've  had  my 
revenge,  and  that's  as  sweet  to  us  as  to  finer  folks.  This 
girl  Reah,  who  finds  the  paper  that  tells  all  the  tale,  who 
do  you  think  she  is,  who  was  her  father?" 

She  looked  around  with  malicious  eyes,  but  before  an 
answer  could  be  given,  if  one  had  been  forthcoming,  a 
cry  of  horror  rang  out  upon  the  air  and  Reah  was  seen 
to  fling  herself  upon  Adrien's  breast.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment something  glittered  in  Mr.  Jasper  Vermont's  hand, 
there  came  a  flash,  a  report,  a  scream  of  agony,  and 
Adrien  held  the  lifeless  form  of  the  poor  street  waif. 

In  an  instant  all  was  confusion. 

Jasper  Vermont,  with  a  cry  of  derision,  had  knocked 
the  duke  aside  and  leaped  to  the  balustrade. 

"Seize  him!  Murder!  Seize  him!"  yelled  the  crowd, 
but 'Mr.  Jasper  had  gained  the  coping,  and  turned  for 
one  second  to  laugh  derisively. 

But  the  laugh  died  on  his  lips,  for  a  voice  that  could 
be  heard  above  all  the  others,  the  shrill,  vulgar  voice  of 
Haidee,  screamed: 

"Jasper,  you  have  murdered  your  own  child!" 

Those  who  were  in  pursuit  saw  him  stagger;  then  as 
the  crowd  parted,  and  he  saw  the  motionless  form  of  the 
girl  who  had  received  the  bullet  he  had  intended  for 
Adrien  Leroy,  he  gave  one  short,  sharp  cry  like  a  wild 
beast  and  shot  himself  through  the  heart,  falling  at  the 
very  feet  of  the  benefactor  he  had  striven  so  hard  to  ruin 
and  betray. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

SUNLIGHT  AND  SHADOW. 

Two  hours  after,  when  all  but  a  few  of  the  crowd  of 
guests  had  left  the  stately  castle,  the  sunlight  streaming 
through  the  latticed  window  of  an  upper  chamber  fell 
upon  the  white-covered  form  of  a  young  girl  that  lay 
stretched  in  the  last  sleep  upon  the  luxurious  bed.  Be- 
side it  knelt  the  stalwart  figure  of  Adrien  Leroy,  his  face 
buried  in  one  hand,  the  other  resting  upon  the  still  one 
that  lay,  white  as  marble,  on  the  coverlet. 

His  costume  of  velvet  and  lace  had  been  changed  for  a 
robe  of  everyday  life,  and  he  had  come  straight  from  the 
scene  of  the  terrace  to  weep  forth  a  passionate,  remorse- 
ful grief  over  the  young  life  which  had  been  shed  so 
generously  fdr  his.  It  mattered  nothing  to  him  that  the 
poor  girl  was  the  daughter  of  the  man  whom  he  had  be- 
friended and  who  had  used  his  generosity  as  the  means 
by  which  to  betray  him,  it  mattered  less  than  nothing  that 
his  grief  might  be  misconstrued  by  the  hard,  uncharita- 
ble world.  At  the  moment  when  the  excitement  was  at 
its  highest  pitch,  and  the  fickle  crowd  were  calling  for 
him,  that  they  might  fall  down  and  worship  their  hero 
with  renewed  enthusiasm,  he  knelt  in  the  deepest  humil- 
ity by  the  dead  girl's  side,  and  while  he  implored  the 
pardon  of  the  Highest  and  Most  Merciful  for  the  fol- 
lies and  sins  of  his  past  life,  called  upon  the  Almighty 
to  record  the  vows  which  he  had  made  that  for  the  fu- 
ture his  feet  should  walk  in  wiser  paths  and  lead  to  a  full 
atonement  for  the  wasteful  past. 

When  he  arose  from  his  knees  his  face  had  lost  all  its 
old  self-possession ;  there  was  a  graver,  more  kindly  and 
earnest  light  in  his  eyes,  and  as  his  lips  pressed  the  dead 
hand  of  the  devoted  street  waif  they  muttered  a  farewell 
prayer  which  was  never  forgotten  from  that  hour  till  his 
last. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  211 

In  the  library  was  seated  in  expectant  silence  the 
baron,  the  Due  de  Rouen,  Standon  and  Pomf rey ;  a  heap 
of  papers  were  lying  on  the  table  before  them,  conspicu- 
ous among  them  that  all-important  roll  in  cipher  which 
Reah  had  so  providentially  discovered.  They  were 
waiting  for  Adrien,  and,  knowing  the  cause  of  his  ab- 
sence, waited  with  patient  respect  until  he  thought  fit 
to  leave  the  silent  chamber. 

Presently  the  door  opened  and  he  entered. 

The  baron  held  out  his  hand  without  a  word,  and 
Adrien  as  silently  grasped  it,  then  with  a  sigh  he  sat 
down  at  the  table  and  prepared  to  learn  to  what  a  vast 
extent  his  false  friend  had  robbed  him. 

In  silence  the  duke  passed  him  paper  after  paper,  all 
drawn  up  in  the  legal  round-hand  of  Mr.  Harker,  and 
Adrien,  with  deep  humiliation,  examined  them  all. 

With  a  sigh  he  dropped  the  last  upon  the  table  and 
looked  up. 

"It  is  like  some  hideous  dream,"  he  said,  in  a  low, 
shocked  tone.  "Jasper  Vermont  then  was  not  only  a 
traitor  but  a  thief!  Can  I  believe — and  yet,  alas!  how 
can  I  doubt  these  proofs? — that  he  descended  so  low  in 
the  scale  of  degradation  as  to  bribe  a  jockey  to  lose  a 
race?  to  set  snares  for  those  he  called  by  the  name  of 
friends,  to  coin  trust  and  confidence  into  petty  lucre, 
to  play  the  scoundrel  for  such  paltry  sums  as  these? 
Great  Heaven,  to  what  depths  of  infamy  will  a  man  de- 
scend when  lust  of  gold  and  envy  once  enter  his  heart. 
Deceived !  no  man  was  ever  so  deceived  as  I  have  been ! 
And  to  the  last  I  believed  him  true,  in  spite  of  all  warn- 
ings, in  spite  of  suspicious  incidents  which  might  have 
opened  the  eyes  of  one  not  utterly  blind.  It  is  a  bitter 
lesson,  and  one  I  shall  never  forget.  Duke,  and  all  of 
you,  if  I  fail  to  thank  you  as  I  ought  for  all  you  have 
done  for  me,  it  is  because  I  am  weighed  down  with  re- 
morse, begotten  by  the  regret  that  I  did  not  lend  an  ear 
to  your  warnings.  Let  a  man  take  heed  of  his  self-con- 
ceit lest  he  fall." 

He  dropped  his  head  upon  his  hands  as  he  finished, 
and  sighed. 

The  baron  looked  at  him  with  a  scrutinizing  look. 


212  Staunch  of  Heart. 

"You  do  not  ask  if  the  evil  can  be  remedied,  Adrien," 
he  said,  in  a  softer  tone  than  he  had  ever  used  to  his 
son;  "you  do  not  ask  if  any  of  this  squandered  money 
can  be  regained?" 

"I  care  not,"  said  Adrien.  "I  am  willing  to  pay  the 
penalty  of  my  folly,  so  that  all  you  have  lost  may  be  re- 
stored, and  that  the  old  man  Harker  assured  me  of." 

The  baron  stroked  his  beard. 

"You  care  not  if  this  treachery  should  leave  you  pen- 
niless?" he  asked. 

Adrien  raised  his  head  with  a  mournful  smile. 

"But  for  one  reason  I  am  indifferent,"  he  said. 

The  baron's  eyes  lit  up. 

"I  know  that  reason.  Your  thought  is  for  another. 
Duke,  tell  him;  I  have  no  words  left  after  all  I  have 
suffered  these  last  six  hours." 

The  duke  touched  a  small  bell,  and  the  bent  form  of 
Mr.  Harker  entered. 

Adrien  looked  up  sadly. 

"There  are  no  more  hideous  revelations?"  he  asked 
painfully. 

"No,  there  is  a  more  satisfactory  one,"  said  the  duke. 

Then  turning  to  the  old  man,  he  said : 

"Place  Mr.  Leroy  in  possession  of  the  facts  with  which 
you  have  made  me  acquainted,  Mr.  Harker." 

The  old  man  laid  a  small  book  upon  the  table. 

"This  will  do  so  better  than  I  can,  gentlemen.  It  is  an 
elaborate  account  of  the  various  investments  in  which 
my  late  master  placed  his  ill-gotten  wealth.  His  expenses 
were  small,  and  the  investments,  which  were  made  with 
Mr,  Leroy's  money,  amount  to  a  large  sum,  gentlemen, 
and  when  realized  will  cover  the  late  Mr.  Jasper  Ver- 
mont's enormous  embezzlements." 

Adrien  took  up  the  book  and  glanced  at  it. 

"Is  this  true?"  he  said,  with  an  earnestness  which  all 
understood.  "Am  I  still  a  rich  man  ?" 

"The  statement  is  correct,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Harker, 
"and  you  will  find  that  you  have  actually  benefited  by  my 
master's  cunning  and  astuteness." 

Adrien  Leroy  laid  the  book  on  the  table  gravely. 

"I  am  grateful,"  he  said.  "But  I  would  leave  this  room 


Staunch  of  Heart.  213 

penniless  if  by  so  doing  I  could  bring  one  life  back  to 
us." 

Then,  almost  overcome  by  his  emotions,  he  abruptly 
left  the  room. 

On  the  morrow  the  news  was  flying  through  the  land. 

Adrien  Leroy,  the  well-beloved  of  Vanity  Fair,  had 
been  betrayed  by  his  friend  and  confidant.  Great  was 
the  sensation  when  all  the  facts  came  out  into  the  full 
light,  and  it  was  known  that  Adrien  had  been  saved  by 
the  traitor's  daughter,  who  had  been  shot  by  her  father's 
own  hand.  The  most  exaggerated  reports  were  circu- 
lated, and  it  was  not  until  the  double  inquest  that  the 
whole  truth  was  known  and  the  world  for  once  was 
called  to  look  upon  the  summary  punishment  of  vice. 

Followed  by  the  execrations  of  the  world  he  had 
duped  and  insulted,  Jasper  Vermont  was  carried  to  his 
suicide's  grave. 

The  day  of  his  burial  his  accomplices,  Haidee  and 
Judith  Levison,  fled  from  the  country,  which,  now  that 
their  characters  stood  fully  revealed,  would  not  tolerate 
them. 

The  world,  too,  lost  its  fashionable  monarch  in  Adrien 
Leroy.  The  vow  he  registered  beside  the  dead  body  of 
the  girl  who  had  loved  and  died  for  him  was  kept  as  re- 
ligiously as  any  made  by  the  knights  of  old.  He  van- 
ished silently  from  his  place,  and  the  gay  and  glittering 
throng  of  pleasure-makers  knew  him  no  more. 

For  a  time  he  traveled  through  wastes  and  wilds,  liv- 
ing the  frugal,  perilous  life  of  the  hunters  and  trappers, 
never  forgetting  for  a  moment  the  lesson  he  had  learned 
in  the  hour  of  his  betrayal,  and  striving  with  might  and 
main  to  bury  the  hollow,  wicked  past  in  a  grave  from 
which  he  hoped  to  raise  bright  flowers  of  the  future. 

And  he  succeeded. 

One  day,  three  years  after  the  death  of  Jasper  Ver- 
mont, an  old  white-haired  man  sat  in  the  dining-room 
of  Barminster  Castle.  His  eyes,  which  were  no  less 
bright  but  far  more  gentle  than  when  we  saw  him  last, 
were  bent  sometimes  on  the  cheerful  fire  and  sometimes 
around  to  the  beautiful  face  of  his  ward,  Constance 
Tremaine,  where  she  stood  against  the  deep  embrasure 
of  the  window  looking  out  upon  the  snow. 


214  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

A  book  was  in  her  hand,  but  it  was  closed,  and  the 
wistful  look  in  her  sweet  eyes  showed  that  her  thoughts 
had  flown  from  the  page  of  fiction  to  the  real  world 
that  lay  in  the  past. 

Suddenly  the  baron  raised  his  head. 

"Constance,  read  me  the  letter  that  came  from  Lady 
Ashford  this  morning.  I  should  like  to  hear  it  again." 

Constance  took  the  letter  from  her  pocket,  but  the 
evening  had  grown  too  dark  for  her  to  decipher  the  char- 
acters. 

"I  cannot  see  it,  my  lord;  but  I  can  remember  it — or 
shall  I  ring  for  the  lights?" 

"No;  I  like  the  firelight.    Tell  me  what  they  say." 

"They  say,"  said  the  sweet,  musical  voice,  "that  they 
are  well ;  that  Lucy  is  better  than  ever ;  and  that  the  little 
boy — the  third  now,  my  lord — is  as  strong  as  a  little  lion. 
Her  father  is  weak  and  feeble,  but  cheerful  and  happy, 
and  lives  only  in  the  smiles  and  April  tears  of  his  grand- 
children. They  say  that  their  simple  prayer  never  as- 
cends without  our  names,  and  they  beg  as  a  boon  that 
Adrien  may  be  assured  of  their  humble  love  and  service.'' 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  the  baron.  "They  are  all 
happy " 

"And  prospering.  Good,  simple  folks,  their  gratitude 
shows  out  in  every  line,  my  lord,  and  not  a  sentence  but 
denotes  how  heartily  and  deeply  they  hold  us  in  remem- 
brance." 

The  baron  nodded,  with  a  good-natured,  contented 
smile. 

"I  am  glad  of  it,  Constance,  glad  of  it.  They  are  good 
people,  and  deserve  all  the  happiness  they  have  got.  Had 
it  not  been  for  the  old  man,  Adrien  might  have  fallen  into 
the  pit  that  fiend  digged  for  him '* 

"He  is  dead,  my  lord,"  murmured  Constance. 

"True,  true,"  said  the  old  man,  "  and  has  passed  before 
a  more  righteous  and  merciful  judge  than  man." 

Then  he  sighed. 

"When  does  the  mail  come  in,  Constance?" 

"To-night,"  answered  Constance,  with  a  sigh  and  a 
sudden  flush  that  made  her  more  lovely  while  it  lasted,  and 
left  her  paler  when  it  had  gone  again. 


Staunch  of  Heart.  215 

"To-night,"  said  the  old  man,  echoing  her  sigh.  "And 
we  shall  hear  from  him.'  Constance,  I  am  an  old  man,  and 
only  one  hope  keeps  the  feeble  breath  in  the  feebler  body. 
You  know  what  it  is.  He  says  no  word  of  returning?" 

"No,"  murmured  Constance,  averting  her  face. 

The  old  man  sighed. 

"I  yearn  for  him  as  the  patriarch  of  old  longed  for  his 
well-beloved  son.  Constance,  if  I  thought  these  eyes 
would  close  forever  ere  they  saw  him  again  in  life,  I  could 
not  die  happy.  Heaven  send  him  soon !" 

Constance's  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  came  from  them, 
though  they  formed  the  word  "Adrien." 

"Always  wandering,"  continued  the  old  man.  "Can  he 
never  forget  the  past?" 

"He  will  never  come  home  till  he  does,"  said  Constance. 
"Has  he  not  said  so?  and  did  he  ever  break  his  word?" 

"No!"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  pride. 
"No,  he  will  not  come  back  until  he  can  do  so  to  take  up  a 
new  life  and  his  love,  Constance " 

Constance  had  drawn  farther  back  into  the  shadow,  and 
came  forward  with  a  quick,  light  step  to  his  side. 

"Let  us  have  the  lights,  and  ask  if  the  mail  is  in." 

Constance  rang  the  bell,  and  stood  with  her  soft,  white 
hand  upon  the  old  man's  shoulder. 

Very  beautiful  she  looked  in  the  bright  gleam  of  the 
firelight,  more  beautiful  because  more  tender  and  womanly 
than  in  the  days  of  old,  and  the  old  man  turned  his  grand, 
.white-crowned  face  to  look  up  at  her. 

"When  he  conies  back,  my  child,"  he  said,  "he  will  find 
a  sweet  prize " 

"Hush!"  she  said,  slipping  her  fingers  to  her  lips,  as 
the  door  opened.  "He  may  return — but  to  cast  it  aside  as 
no  prize,  but  an  old  toy  long  since  wearied  of." 

"Never!"  said  the  old  man.  "Adrien  loved  you,  Con- 
stance, and  with  him  to  love  once  is  to  love  forever." 

She  turned  with  a  sigh. 

"Bring  the  lights,"  she  said  to  the  dim  figure  near  the 
door. 

Instead  of  bowing  and  retreating,  it  came  forward  into 
the  twilight,  and  knelt  down  beside  the  old  man's  chair- 


216  'Staunch  of  Heart. 

Constance  uttered  a  low  cry  and  grasped  the  high* 
backed  chair  tightly. 

The  old  man  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Adrien!" 

"It  is  I,"  said  the  old  musical  voice.  "Love  can  see  its 
own  in  a  dimmer  light  than  this,  father.  Constance,  my 
love,  my  eyes  have  pierced  through  the  darkness  of  all 
these  weary  years,  and  seen  you  night  and  day.  I  have 
come  into  the  light  now,  and  to  claim  you  for  my  own.* 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  her,  nerveless  and  weeping,  to  his 
breast,  and  in  the  firelight  that  threw  fitful  shadows  on  the 
old  oak  walls  the  old  man  blessed  them. 

A  week  after  the  church  near  the  cascade  in  the  woods 
was  all  ablaze  with  flowers  and  happy-cheeked  children, 
for  it  was  the  marriage  day  of  Lady  Constance  and  Adrien 
Leroy. 

There  were  no  fashionable  silks  and  satins,  and  no 
mighty  ecclesiastic  performed  the  ceremony.  The  little 
old  rector  made  them  man  and  wife,  the  baron  gave  the 
beautiful  bride  away,  and  the  duke,  with  two  of  the  Ladies 
de  Rouen,  sustained  the  characters  of  groomsman  and 
bridesmaids. 

The  ceremony  over,  during  which  the  children,  who 
had  growq  to  love  their  beautiful  Lady  Constance,  sang 
a  bridal  hymn,  the  small  cortege  left  the  church  in  a  blaze 
of  sunlight  overhead  and  a  path  of  flowers  beneath  their 
feet. 

Happy  was  the  bride  that  morning,  and  Adrien  as  he 
felt  her  loved  arm  against  his  side  grew  full  at  heart  with 
gratitude  and  love. 

"My  darling,"  he  murmured,  "we  do  not  want  the 
world,  for  you  and  I  having  each  other's  heart  have  all 
the  world  could  give  us." 

But  happy  Constance  shook  her  head. 

"Not  to  the  world  do  I  owe  you,  Adrien ;  but  to  an- 
other. But  for  her,  life  would  have  ended  for  both  of  us 
that  summer  morning." 

And  as  she  spoke  she  turned  aside  and  dcew  him  to  a 
simple  grave,  on  which  arose  a  plain  marble  cross. 

Here  a  lady,  who  had  witnessed  the  ceremony  from  a 
dark  corner  of  the  church,  and  who  had  followed  the 


Staunch  of  Hea<,  t.  217 

happy  couple  at  a  distance,  as  if  anxious  to  see  them  to 
the  l|st  moment  they  were  in  sight,  saw  the  bride  rever- 
ently lay  her  bouquet  of  choice  white  flowers  upon  the 
grave,  and  the  bridegroom,  raising  his  hat,  as  reverently 
take  a  wreath  from  a  bystander  and  place  beside  it. 

When  the  procession  had  resumed  its  course,  still  tread- 
ing on  flowers,  and  accompanied  by  the  cheering  of  the 
villagers  and  children,  Lady  Eveline  approached  the 
flower-decked  grave,  and,  raising  a  corner  of  the  wreath, 
read  this  ample  inscription,  which  it  had  partly  hidden — 
"Reah." 

THE  END. 


THE  HIRED  BABY 

A  Romance  of  the  London  Streets 


BY  MARIE  CORRELLI 


* 


f 


THE  HIRED  BABY 


A  DARK,  desolate  December  night  —  a  night  that 
clung  to  the  metropolis  like  a  wet  black  shroud  —  a 
night  in  which  the  heavy,  low-hanging  vapors  melted 
every  now  and  then  into  a  slow  reluctant  rain,  cold 
as  icicle  drops  in  a  rock-cavern.  Pefople  passed  and 
repassed  in  the  streets  like  ghosts  in  a  bad  dream;  the 
twinkling  gas-light  showed  them  at  one  moment  rising 
out  of  the  fog  and  then  disappearing  from  view  as 
though  suddenly  ingulfed  in  a  vaporous  ebon  sea. 
With  muffled  angry  shrieks  the  metropolitan  trains 
deposited  their  shoals  of  shivering,  coughing  travelers 
at  the  several  stations,  where  sleepy  officials,  rendered 
vicious  by  the  weather,  snatched  the  tickets  from 
their  hands  with  offensive  haste  and  roughness.  Om- 
ni-bus  conductors  grew  ill-tempered  and  abusive  with- 
out any  seemingly  adequate  reason;  shopkeepers  be- 
came flippant,  disobliging  and  careless  of  custom; 
cabmen  shouted  derisive  or  denunciatory  language 
after  their  rapidly  retreating  fares;  in  short,  every- 
body was  in  a  discontented,  almost  spiteful  humor, 
with  the  exception  of  those  few  aggressively  cheerful 
persons  who  are  in  the  habit  of  always  making  the 
best  of  everything,  even  bad  weather.  Down  the 
long  wide  vista  of  the  Cromwell  Road,  Kensington, 
the  fog  had  it  all  its  own  way;  it  swept  on  steadily, 
like  thick  smoke  from  a  huge  fire,  choking  the  throats 


4  The  Hired  Baby 

and  blinding  the  eyes  of  foot-passengers,  stealing 
through  the  crannies  of  the  houses,  and  chilling  the 
blood  of  even  those  luxurious  individuals  who,  seated 
in  elegant  drawing-rooms  before  blazing  fires,  easily 
forgot  that  there  were  such  bitter  things  as  cold  and 
poverty  in  that  outside  world  against  which  they  had 
barred  their  doors.  At  one  house  in  particular  —  a 
house  with  gaudy  glass  doors  and  somewhat  soiled 
yellow  silk  curtains  at  the  windows  —  a  house  that 
plainly  said  of  itself — "Done  up  for  show!"  to  all 
who  cared  to  examine  its  exterior  —  there  stood  a 
closed  brougham  drawn  by  a  prancing  pair  of  fat 
horses.  A  coachman  of  distinguished  appearance  sat 
on  the  box;  a  footman  of  irreproachable  figure  stood 
waiting  on  the  pavement,  his  yellow-gloved  hand 
resting  elegantly  on  the  polished  silver  knob  of  the 
carriage  door.  Both  these  gentlemen  were  resolute 
and  inflexible  of  face;  they  looked  as  if  they  had  de- 
termined on  some  great  deed  that  should  move  the 
world  to  wild  applause  —  but,  truth  to  tell,  they  had 
only  just  finished  a  highly  satisfactory  "meat- tea," 
and  before  this  grave  silence  had  fallen  upon  them  they 
had  been  discussing  the  advisability  of  broiled  steak 
and  onions  for  supper.  The  coachman  had  inclined  to 
plain  mutton-chops  as  being  easier  of  digestion;  the 
footman  had  earnestly  asseverated  his  belief  in  the  su- 
perior succulence  and  sweetness  of  the  steak  and 
onions,  and  in  the  end  he  had  gained  his  point.  This 
weighty  question  being  settled,  they  had  gradually 
grown  reflective  on  the  past,  present,  and  future  joys 
of  eating  at  some  one  else's  expense,  and  in  this  bland 
and  pleasing  state  of  meditation  they  were  still  ab- 
sorbed. The  horses  were  impatient  and  pawed  the 


The  Hired  Baby  5 

muddy  ground  with  many  a  toss  of  their  long  manes 
and  tails,  the  steam  from  their  glossy  coats  mingling 
with  the  ever-thickening  density  of  the  fog.  On  the 
white  stone  steps  of  the  residence  before  which  they 
waited  was  an  almost  invisible  bundle,  apparently 
shapeless  and  immovable.  Neither  of  the  two  gor- 
geous personages  in  livery  observed  it ;  it  was  too  far 
back  in  a  dim  corner,  too  unobtrusive  for  the  casual 
regard  of  their  lofty  eyes.  Suddenly  the  glass  doors 
before  mentioned  were  thrown  apart  with  a  clattering 
noise,  a  warmth  and  radiance  from  the  entrance  hall 
thus  displayed  streamed  into  the  foggy  street,  and  at 
the  same  instant  the  footman,  still  with  grave  and 
imperturbable  countenance,  opened  the  brougham. 
An  elderly  lady,  richly  dressed,  with  diamonds 
sparkling  in  her  gray  hair,  came  rustling  down  the 
steps,  bringing  with  her  faint  odors  of  patchouli  and 
violet  powder.  She  was  followed  by  a  girl  of  doll-like 
prettiness  with  a  snub  nose  and  petulant  little  mouth, 
who  held  up  her  satin  and  lace  skirts  with  a  sort  of  fas- 
tidious disdain,  as  though  she  scorned  to  set  foot  on 
earth  that  was  not  carpeted  with  the  best  velvet  pile. 
As  they  approached  their  carriage,  the  inert  dark 
bundle  crouched  in  the  corner  started  into  life  —  a 
woman  with  wild  hair  and  wilder  eyes  —  whose  pale 
lips  q^  -ivered  with  suppressed  weeping  as  her  piteous 
voice  broke  into  sudden  clamor: 

"  Oh,  lady ! "  she  cried,  "  for  the  love  of  God  a  trifle! 
Oh,  lady,  lady!" 

But  the  "lady,"  witii  a  contemptuous  sniff  and  a 
shake  of  her  scented  garments,  passed  her  before  she 
could  continue  her  appeal,  and  she  turned  with  a  sort 
of  faint  hope  to  the  softer  face  of  the  girl. 


6  The  Hired  Baby 

*6Oh,  my  dear,  do  have  pity!  Just  the  smallest 
Httle  thing,  and  God  will  bless  you!  You  are  rich 
and  happy  —  and  I  am  starving!  Only  a  penny! 
For  the  baby — the  poor  little  baby ! "  and  she  made  as 
though  she  would  open  her  tattered  shawl  and  reveal 
some  treasure  hidden  therein,  but  shrunk  back  repelled 
by  the  cold,  merciless  gaze  that  fell  upon  her  from 
those  eyes  in  which  youth  dwelt  without  tenderness. 

"  You  have  no  business  on  our  doorstep,"  said  the 
g?rl,  harshly.  "Go  away  directly,  or  I  shall  tell  my 
SSrwant  to  call  a  policeman." 

Then  as  she  entered  the  brougham  after  her  mother 
IxlQ  addressed  the  respectable  footman  angrily,  giving 
fatal  the  benefit  of  a  strong  nasal  intonation. 

"  Howard,  why  do  you  let  such  dirty  beggars  come 
near  the  carriage  ?  What  are  you  paid  for,  I  should  like 
ko  %now?  It  is  perfectly  disgraceful  to  the  house!" 

"Very  sorry,  miss!"  said  the  footman,  gravely;  "I 
dida't  see  the  —  the  person  before."  Then  shutting 
the  brougham  door,  he  turned  with  a  dignified  air  to 
the  unfortunate  creature  who  still  lingered  near,  and 
with  a  sweeping  gesture  of  his  gold-embroidered  coat- 
sleeve,  said  majestically: 

"Do  you  'ear?     Be  hoff!" 

Then  having  thus  performed  his  duty,  he  mounted 
the  box  beside  his  friend  the  coachman,  and  the  equip- 
age rattled  quickly  away,  its  gleaming  lights  soon  lost 
in  the  smoke-laden  vapors  that  drooped  downward  like 
funeral  hangings  from  the  invisible  sky  to  the  scarcely 
visible  ground.  Left  to  herself,  the  woman  who  had 
vainly  sought  charity  from  those  in  whom  no  charity 
existed,  looked  up  despairingly  as  one  distraught, 
and  seemed  as  though  she  would  have  given  vent  to 


The  Hired  Baby  7 

some  fierce  exclamation,  when  a  feeble  wafl  came  piti- 
fully forth  from  the  sheltering  fold?  of  her  shawl. 
She  restrained  herself  instantly  and  walked  on  at  a 
rapid  pace,  scarcely  heeding  whither  she  went,  till 
she  reached  the  Catholic  church  known  as  the  "  Ora- 
tory." Its  unfinished  facade  loomed  darkly  out  of  the 
fog;  there  was  nothing  picturesque  or  inviting  about 
it,  yet  there  were  people  passing  softly  in  and  out, 
and  through  the  swinging  to  and  fro  of  the  red  baize- 
covered  doors  there  came  a  comforting  warm  glimmer 
of  light.  The  woman  paused,  hesitated  —  and  then 
having  apparently  made  up  her  mind  ascended  ti. 
broad  steps,  looked  in  and  finally  entered.  The  place 
was  strange  to  her  —  she  knew  nothing  of  its  religious 
meaning,  and  its  cold,  uncompleted  appearance  op- 
pressed her.  There  were  only  some  half  dozen  per- 
sons scattered  about  like  black  spots  in  its  vast  white 
interior,  and  the  fog  hung  heavily  in  the  vaulted  dome 
and  dark  little  chapels.  One  corner  alone  blazed 
with  brilliancy  and  color  —  this  was  the  Altar  of  the 
Virgin.  Toward  it  the  tired  vagrant  made  her  way, 
and  on  reaching  it  sunk  on  the  nearest  chair  as  though 
exhausted.  She  did  not  raise  her  eyes  to  the  mar- 
ble splendors  of  the  shrine  —  one  of  the  masterpieces 
of  old  Italian  art;  she  had  been  merely  attracted  to 
the  spot  by  the  glitter  of  the  lamps  and  candles,  and 
took  no  thought  as  to  the  reason  of  their  being  lighted, 
though  she  was  sensible  of  a  certain  comfort  in  the  soft 
luster  shed  around  her.  She  seemed  still  young;  her 
face,  rendered  haggard  by  long  and  bitter  privation, 
showed  traces  of  past  beauty,  and  her  eyes,  full  of  fe- 
verish trouble,  were  large,  dark  and  still  lustrous. 
Her  mouth  alone  —  that  sensitive  betrayer  of  the 


S  The  Hired  Baby 

Iife9s  good  and  bad  actions  —  revealed  that  all  had 
pot  been  well  with  her;  its  lines  were  hard  and  vicious, 
and  the  resentful  curve  of  the  upper  lip  spoke  of  fool- 
ish pride  not  unmixed  with  reckless  sensuality.  She 
eat  for  a  minute  or  two  motionless  —  then  with  ex- 
ceeding care  and  tenderness  she  began  to  unfold  her 
thin  torn  shawl  by  gentle  degrees,  looking  down  witb 
anxious  solicitude  «t  the  object  concealed  within  it. 
Only  a  baby  —  and  withal  a  baby  so  tiny  and  white 
and  frail  that  it  seemed  as  though  it  must  melt  like  a 
snowflake  beneath  the  lightest  touch.  As  its  wrap- 
pings were  loosened,  it  opened  a  pair  of  large,  solemn 
blue  eyes  and  gazed  at  the  woman's  face  with  a  strange 
pitiful  wistfulness.  It  lay  quiet,  without  moan,  a 
pinched,  pale  miniature  of  suffering  humanity  —  an 
infant  with  sorrow's  mark  painfully  impressed  upon 
jts  drawn  small  features.  Presently  it  stretched  forth 
a  puny  hand  and  feebly  caressed  its  protectress,  and 
this,  too,  with  the  faintest  glimmer  of  a  smile.  The 
woman  responded  to  its  affection  with  a  sort  of  rap- 
ture; she  caught  it  fondly  to  her  breast  and  covered 
it  with  kisses,  rocking  it  to  and  fro  with  broken  wordi 
of  endearment.  "My  little  darling!"  she  whisperedt 
softly.  "My  little  pet!  Yes,  yes,  I  know!  So  tiredv 
so  cold  and  hungry!  Never  mind,  baby,  never  mind! 
we  mil  rest  here  a  little,  then  we  will  sing  a  song  pres- 
ently and  get  some  money  to  take  us  home.  Sleep 
a  while  longer,  dearie !  There !  now  we  are  warm  and 
cosy  again." 

So  saying,  she  rearranged  her  shawl  in  closer  and 
tighter  folds  so  as  to  protect  the  child  more  thor- 
oughly. While  she  was  engaged  in  this  operation, 
a  lady  in  deep  mourning  pissed  close  by  her,  and  ad- 


The  Hired  Baby  9 

vancing  to  the  very  steps  of  the  altar,  knelt  down, 
hiding  her  face  with  her  clasped  hands.  The  tired 
wayfarer's  attention  was  attracted  by  this ;  she  gazed 
with  a  sort  of  dull  wonder  at  the  kneeling  figure  robed 
in  rich  rustling  silk  and  crape,  and  gradually  her  eyes 
wandered  upward,  upward,  till  they  rested  on  the 
gravely  sweet  and  serenely  smiling  marble  image  of 
the  Virgin  and  Child.  She  looked  and  looked  again  — 
surprised  —  incredulous ;  then  suddenly  rose  to  her 
fe.et  and  made  her  way  to  the  altar  railing.  There  she 
paused,  staring  vaguely  at  a  basket  of  flowers,  white 
and  odorous,  that  had  been  left  there  by  some  rever- 
ent worshiper.  She  glanced  doubtfully  at  the  swing- 
ing silver  lamps,  the  twinkling  candles;  she  was  con- 
scious, too,  of  a  subtle  strange  fragrance  in  the  air, 
as  though  a  basket  full  of  spring  violets  and  daffodils 
had  just  been  carried  by;  then,  as  her  wandering  gaze 
came  back  to  the  solitary  woman  in  black  who  still 
knelt  motionless  near  her,  a  sort  of  choking  sensation 
came  into  her  throat  and  a  stinging  moisture  strug- 
gled in  her  eyes.  She  strove  to  turn  this  hysterical 
sensation  to  a  low  laugh  of  disdain. 

"Lord,  Lord!"  she  muttered  beneath  her  breath, 
"what  sort  of  place  is  this,  where  they  pray  to  a 
woman  and  a  baby  ? ' ' 

At  that  moment  the  lady  in  black  rose;  she  was 
young,  with  a  proud,  fair,  but  weary  face.  Her  eyes 
lighted  on  her  soiled  and  poverty-stricken  sister,  and 
she  paused  with  a  pitying  look.  The  street  wanderer 
made  use  of  the  opportunity  thus  offered,  and  in  an 
urgent  whisper  implored  charity.  The  lady  drew  out 
a  purse,  then  hesitated,  looking  wistfully  a-t  the  bundle 
in  the  shawl. 


The  Hired  Baby 

"You  have  a  little  child  there?"  she  asked  in  gentle 
accents.  "May  I  see  it?" 

"Yes,  lady;"  and  the  wrapper  was  turned  down 
sufficiently  to  disclose  the  tiny  white  face,  now  more 
infinitely  touching  than  ever  in  the  pathos  of  sleep. 

"I  lost  my  little  one  a  week  ago,"  said  the  lady, 
simply,  as  she  looked  at  it.  "He  was  all  I  had.'' 
Her  voice  trembled,  she  opened  her  purse  and  placed 
i  half  crown  in  the  hand  of  the  astonished  supplicant. 
''You  are  happier  than  I  am;  perhaps  you  will  pray 
Tor  me!  ^  am  very  lonely !" 

Then  dropping  her  long  crape  veil  so  that  it  com- 
pletely hid  her  features,  she  bent  her  head  and  moved 
softly  away.  The  woman  watched  her  till  her  grace- 
ful figure  was  completely  lost  in  the  gloom  of  the  great 
church,  and  then  turned  again  vaguely  to  the  altar. 

"Pray  for  her!"  she  thought.  "I!  As  if  I  could 
pray!"  And  she  smiled  bitterly.  Again  she  looked 
at  the  statue  in  the  shrine;  it  had  no  meaning  at  all 
for  her.  She  had  never  heard  of  Christianity  save 
through  the  medium  of  a  tract,  whose  consoling  title 
had  been  "Stop!  You  are  going  to  Hell!"  Religion 
of  every  sort  was  mocked  at  by  those  among  whom  her 
lot  was  cast,  the  name  of  Christ  was  only  used  as  a 
convenience  to  swear  by,  and  therefore  this  mysteri- 
ously smiling,  gently  inviting  marble  figure  was  in- 
comprehensible to  her  mind. 

"  As  if  I  could  pray ! "  she  repeated  with  a  sort  of  de- 
rision. Then  she  looked  at  the  broad  silver  coin  in 
her  hand  and  the  sleeping  baby  in  her  arms.  With 
a  sudden  impulse  she  dropped  on  her  knees. 

"Whoever  you  are,"  she  muttered,  addressm  the 
statue  above  her,  "it  seems  you've  got  a  child  of  you* 


-*  The  Hired  Baby  n 

own;  perhaps  you'll  help  me  to  take  care  of  this  one. 
It  isn't  mine;  I  wish  it  was!  Anyway,  I  love  it  more 
than  its  own  mother  does.  I  dare  say  you  won't  listen 
to  the  likes  of  me,  but  if  there  was  God  anywhere  about 
I'd  ask  Him  to  bless  that  good  soul  that's  lost  her  baby. 
I  bless  her  with  all  my  heart,  but  my  blessing  ain't 
good  for  much.  Ah!"  and  she  surveyed  anew  the 
Virgin's  serene  white  countenance,  "you  just  look  as 
if  you  understood  me,  but  I  don't  believe  you  do! 
Never  mind,  I've  said  all  I  wanted  to  say  this  time." 
Her  strange  petition  or  rather  discourse  concluded, 
she  rose  and  walked  away.  The  great  doors  of  the 
church  swung  heavily  behind  her  as  she  stepped  out 
and  stood  once  more  in  the  muddy  street.  It  was 
raining  steadily  —  a  fine,  cold,  penetrating  rain. 
But  the  coin  she  held  was  a  talisman  against  outer 
discomforts,  and  she  continued  to  walk  on  till  she 
came  to  a  clean-looking  dairy,  where  for  a  couple  of 
pence  she  was  able  to  replenish  the  infant's  long  ago 
emptied  feeding-bottle;  but  she  purchased  nothing 
for  herself.  She  had  starved  all  day  and  was  now 
too"  faint  to  eat.  Soon  she  entered  an  omnibus  and 
was  driven  to  'Charing  Cross,  and  alighting  at  the 
great  station,  brilliant  with  its  electric  light,  she  paced 
up  and  down  outside  it,  accosting  several  of  the  pass- 
ers-by and  imploring  their  pity.  One  man  gave  her 
a  penny;  another,  young  and  handsome,  with  a 
flushed,  intemperate  face  and  a  look  of  his  fast-fad- 
ing boyhood  still  about  him,  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket 
and  drew  out  all  the  loose  coppers  it  contained, 
amounting  to  three  pennies  and  an  odd  farthing,  and 
dropping  them  into  tier  outstretched  oalm.  said  half 
gaily,  half  boldly 


'12  i'ne  Hired  Baby 

"  You  ought  to  do  better  than  that  with  those  big 
eyes  of  yours!"  She  drew  back  and  shuddered;  he 
broke  into  a  coarse  laugh  and  went/  his  way.  Stand- 
ing where  he  had  left  her,  she  seemed  for  a  time  lost 
in  wretched  reflections,  the  fretful  wailing  cry  of  the 
child  she  carried  roused  her,  and  hushing^it  softly,  she 
murmured:  "  Yes,  yes,  darling,  it  is  too  wet  and  cold 
for  you;  we  had  better  go."  And  acting  suddenly  on 
her  resolve,  she  hailed  another  omnibus,  this  time 
bound  for  Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  was,  after 
some  dreary  jolting,  set  down  at  her  final  destination 
— a  dirty  alley  in  the  worst  part  of  Seven  Dials.  En- 
tering it,  she  was  hailed  with  a  shout  of  derisive  laugh- 
ter from  some  rough-looking  men  and  women,  who 
were  standing  grouped  round  a  low  gin-shop  at  the 
corner. 

"Here's  Liz!"  cried  one.  "Here's  Liz  and  the 
bloomin'  kid!" 

"Now,  old  gel,  fork  out!  How  much  'ave  yer  got, 
Liz?  Treat  us  to  a  drop  all  round!" 

Liz  walked  past  them  steadily;  the  conspicuous 
curve  of  her  upper  lip  came  into  full  play  and  her  eyes 
flashed  disdainfully,  but  she  said  nothing.  Her 
silence  exasperated  a  tangle-haired,  cat-faced  girl  of 
some  seventeen  years,  who,  more  than  half  drunk,  sat 
on  the  ground  clasping  her  knees  with  both  arms,  and 
rocking  herself  lazily  to  and  fro. 

"Mother  Mawks!"  cried  she,  "Mother  Mawks! 
You're  wanted!  Here's  Liz  come  back  with  you 
babby!" 

As  if  her  words  had  been  a  powerful  incantation  to 
summon  forth  an  evil  spirit,  a  door  in  one  of  the  miser- 
able houses  was  thrown  open,  and  a  stout 


The  Hired  Baby  13 

nearly  naked  to  the  waist,  with  a  swollen,  blotched 
and  most  hideous  countenance,  rushed  out  furiously, 
and  darting  at  Liz,  shook  her  violently  by  the  arm. 

"Where's  my  shullin'?"  she  yelled,  "where's  my 
gin?  Out  with  it!  Out  with  my  shullin'  and  four- 
pence!  None  of  your  sneakin'  ways  with  me;  a  bar- 
gain's a  bargain  all  the  world  over!  You're  makin' 
a  fortin'  with  my  babby  — yer  know  y'are;  pays  yer 
a  deal  better  than  yer  old  trade !  Don't  say  it  don't 
—  yer  knows  it  do.  Yer'll  not  find  such  a  sickly  kid 
anywheres,  an'  it's  the  sickly  kids  wot  pays  an'  moves 
the  'arts  of  the  kyind  ladies  and  good  gentlemen  " 
this  with  an  imitative  whine  that  excited  the  laughter 
and  applause  of  her  hearers.  "  You've  got  it  cheap, 
I  kin  tell  yer,  an'  if  yer  don't  pay  up  reg'lar,  there's 
others  that'll  take  the  chance,  and  thankful  too!" 

She  stopped  for  lack  of  breath,  and  Liz  spoke 
quietly : 

"It's  all  right,  Mother  Mawks,"  she  said,  with  an 
attempt  at  a  smile;  "here's  your  shilling,  here's  the 
four  pennies  for  the  gin.  I  don't  owe  you  anything 
for  'the  child  now."  She  stopped  and  hesitated, 
looking  down  tenderly  at  the  frail  creature  in  her 
arms,  then  added  almost  pleadingly,  "It's  asleep 
now.  May  I  take  it  with  me  tonight?" 

Mother  Mawks,  who  had  been  testing  the  coins  Liz 
bad  given  her  by  biting  them  ferociously  with  her 
jarge  yellow  teeth,  broke  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"Take  it  with  yer!  I  like  that!  Wot  imperence! 
Take  it  with  yer!"  Then,  with  her  huge  red  arms 
akimbo,  she  added,  with  a  grin,  "  Tell  yer  wot,  if  yer 
likes  to  pay  me  'arf  a  crown,  yer  can  'ave  it  to  cuddle 
an'  welcome!" 


14  The  Hired  Baby 

Another  shout  of  approving  merriment  burst  from 
the  drink-soddened  spectators  of  the  little  scene,  and 
the  girl  crouched  on  the  ground,  removed  her  encir- 
cling hands  from  her  knees  to  clap  them  loudly,  as  she 
exclaimed: 

"Well  done,  Mother  Mawks!  One  doesn't  let  out 
kids  at  night  for  nothing!  "Fought  to  be  more  ex- 
pensive tlian  daytime!" 

The  face  of  Liz  had  grown  white  and  rigid. 

"  Yoii  know  I  can't  give  you  that  money,"  she  said, 
slowly.  "I  have  not  tasted  bit  or  drop  all  day.  I 
must  live,  though  it  doesn't  seem  worth  while.  The 
child,"  and  her  voice  softened  involuntarily,  "is  fast 
asleep;  it's  a  pity  to  wake  it,  that's  all.  It  will  cry 
and  fret  all  night,  and  —  and  I  would  make  it  warm 
and  comfortable  if  you'd  let  me."  She  raised  her 
eyes  hopefully  and  anxiously,  "Will  you?" 

Mother  Mawks  was  evidently  a  lady  of  an  excitable 
disposition.  The  simple  1'equest  seemed  to  drive  her 
nearly  frantic.  She  raised  her  voice  to  an  absolute 
scream,  thrusting  her  dirty  hands  through  her  still 
dirtier  hair  as  the  proper  accompanying  gesture  to  her 
vituperative  oratory. 

"Will  I!  Will  I!"  she  screeched.  "Will  I  let  out 
my  hown  baby  for  the  night  for  nothing?  Will  I? 
No,  I  won't!  I'll  see  yer  blowed  into  the  middle  of 
next  week  fust!  Lor'  a'niussey!  'ow  'igh  an'  mighty 
we  are  gittin',  to  be  sure !  The  babby'll  be  quiet  with  ( 
you,  Miss  Liz;  will  it,  hindeed!  An'  it  will  cry  an'  fret 
with  its  hown  mother,  will  it,  hindeed!"  And  at 
every  sentence  she  approached  Liz  more  nearly,  in- 
creasing in  fury  as  she  advanced.  "Yer  low  hussy  1 
D'ye  think  I'd  let  yer  'ave  my  babby  for  a  hour  ua- 


The  Hired  Baby  15 

less  yer  paid  for't?  As  it  is,  yer  pays  far  too  little. 
I'm  an  honest  woman  as  works  for  my  livin'  an'  wot 
drinks  reasonable,  better  than  you  by  a  long  sight, 
with  your  stuck-up  airs !  A  pretty  drab  you  are !  Gi* 
me  the  babby;  ye  an't  no  business  to  keep  it  a  mini! 
longer;"  and  she  made  a  grab  at  Liz's  sheltering 
shawl. 

"Oh,   don't  hurt  it!"  pleaded  Liz,   tremblingly 
"Such  a  little  thing;  don't  hurt  it!" 

Mother  Mawks  stared  so  wildly  that  her  blood-shot 
eyes  seemed  protruding  from  her  head. 

"  'Urt  it!  Hain't  I  a  right  to  do  wot  I  likes  with 
my  hown  babby!  'Urt  it!  Well,  I  never!  Look 
'ere!"  and  she  turned  round  on  the  assembled  neigh- 
bors. "  Hain't  she  a  reg'lar  one!  She  don't  care  for 
the  law,  not  she !  She's  keepin'  back  a  child  from  its 
hown  mother!"  And  with  that  she  made  a  fierce  at- 
tack on  the  shawl  and  succeeded  in  dragging  the  infant 
from  Liz's  reluctant  arms.  Wakened  thus  roughly 
from  its  slumbers,  the  poor  mite  set  up  a  feeble  wail- 
ing; its  mother,  enraged  at  the  sound,  shook  it  vio- 
lently till  it  gasped  for  breath. 

"  Drat  the  little  beast ! "  she  cried.  "  Why  don't  it 
thoke  an'  'ave  done  with  it!" 

And  without  heeding  the  terrified  remonstrances 
of  Liz,  she  flung  the  child  roughly,  as  though  it  were 
a  ball,  through  the  open  door  of  her  lodgings,  where 
it  fell  on  a  heap  of  dirty  clothes,  and  lay  motionless; 
its  wailing  had  ceased. 

"Oh,  baby,  baby!"  exclaimed  Liz,  in  accents  of 
poignant  distress.  "Oh!  you  hr^-e  killed  it,  I  am 
sure  I  Oh,  you  are  cruel,  cruel!  Oh,  baby,  baby!" 

And  she  broke  int^  a  tempestuous  passion  of  sobs 


16  The  Hired  Baby 

and  tears.  The  by-standers  looked  on  in  unmoved 
silence.  Mother  Mawks  gathered  her  torn  garments 
round  her  with  a  gesture  of  defiance,  and  sniffed  the 
air  as  though  she  said,  "  Any  one  who  wants  to  med- 
dle with  me  will  get  the  worst  of  it."  There  was  a 
brief  pause;  suddenly  a  man  staggered  out  of  the  gin- 
shop,  smearing  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  mouth 
as  he  came;  a  massively  built,  ill-favored  brute  with 
a  shock  of  uncombed  red  hair  and  small,  ferret-like 
eyes.  He  stared  stupidly  at  the  weeping  Liz,  then  at 
Mother  Mawks,  finally  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
loafers  who  stood  by.  "Wot's  the  row?"  he  de- 
manded, thickly,  "Wot's  up?  'Ave  it  out  fair!  Joe 
Mawks'll  stand  by  an'  see  fair  game.  Fire  away,  my 
hearties!  fire,  fire  away!"  And  with  a  chuckling 
idiot  laugh  he  dived  into  the  pocket  of  his  torn  cor- 
duroy trousers  and  produced  a  pipe.  Filling  this 
leisurely  from  a  greasy  pouch,  with  such  unsteady  fin- 
gers that  the  tobacco  dropped  all  over  him,  he  lighted 
it,  repeating  with  increased  thickness  of  utteiance 
"Wot's  the  row!  ;Ave  it  out  fair!" 

"It's  about  your  babby,  Joe!"  cried  the  girl  befo  e 
mentioned,  jumping  up  from  her  seat  on  the  ground 
with  such  force  that  her  hair  came  tumbling  all  about 
her  in  a  dark,  dank  mist  through  which  her  thin, 
eager  face  spitefully  peered.  "Liz  has  gone  crazy! 
She  wants  your  babby  to  cuddle ! ' '  And  she  screamed 
with  sudden  laughter,  "Eh,  eh!  fency!  Wants  a 
babby  to  cuddle." 

The  stupefied  Joe  blinked  drowsily  and  sucked  the 
stem  of  his  pipe  with  apparent  relish.  Then,  as  if  he 
had  been  engaged  in  deep  meditation  on  the  subject. 
he  removed  his  smoky  consoler  from  his  mouth,  and 


The  Hired  Baby  17 

said,  "W'y  not?  Wants  a  babby  to  cuddle?  All 
right!  Let  'er  'ave  it  —  w'y  not?" 

At  these  words  Liz  looked  up  hopefully  through  her 
tears,  but  Mother  Mawks  darted  forward  in  raving 
indignation. 

"Yer  great  drunken  fool!"  she  yelled,  to  her  be- 
sotted spouse,  "aren't  yer  ashamed  of  yerself  ?  Wot! 
Let  out  yer  babby  for  a  whole  night  for  nuthin'  ?  It's 
lucky  I've  got  my  wits  about  me;  an'  I  say  Liz  sha'n't 
'ave  it!  There  now!" 

The  man  looked  at  her  and  a  dogged  resolution 
darkened  his  repulsive  countenance.  He  raised  his 
big  fist,  clinched  it,  and  hit  straight  out,  giving  his  in- 
furiated wife  a  black  eye  in  much  less  than  a  minute. 
"An'  I  say  she  shall  'ave  it!  Where  are  ye  now?" 

In  answer  to  the  query  Mother  Mawks  might  have 
said  that  she  was  "all  there,"  for  she  returned  her  hus- 
band's blow  with  interest  and  force,  and  in  a  couple  of 
seconds  the  happy  pair  were  engaged  in  a  "stand-up" 
fight,  to  the  intense  admiration  and  excitement  of  all 
the  inhabitants  of  the  little  alley.  Every  one  in  the 
place  thronged  to  watch  the  combatants  and  to  hear 
the  blasphemous  oaths  and  curses  with  which  the  bat- 
tle was  accompanied. 

In  the  midst  of  the  affray,  a  wizened,  bent  old  man, 
who  had  been  sitting  at  his  door  sorting  rags  in  a 
basket,  and  apparently  taking  no  heed  of  the  clamor 
around  him,  made  a  sign  to  Liz. 

"Take  the  kid  now,"  he  whispered.  "Nobody'll 
notice.  I'll  see  they  don't  cry  arter  ye."  Liz 
thanked  him  mutely  by  a  look,  and  rushing  to  the 
house  where  the  child  still  lay,  seemingly  inanimate, 
on  the  floor  among  the  soiled  clothes,  she  caught  it  up 


l8  The  Hired  Baby 

eagerly  and  hurried  away  to  her  own  poor  garret  in  a 
tumble-down  tenement  at  the  furthest  end  of  the 
alley.  The  infant  had  been  stunned  by  its  fall,  but 
under  her  tender  care,  and  rocked  in  the  warmth  of 
her  caressing  arms,  it  soon  recovered  though  when 
its  blue  eyes  opened  they  were  full  of  a  bewildered 
pain  such  as  may  be  seen  in  the  eyes  of  a  shot  bird. 

"My  pet!  my  poor  little  darling!"  she  murmured 
over  and  over  again,  kissing  its  wee  white  face  and 
soft  hands;  "  I  wish  I  was  your  mother  —  Lord  knows 
I  do!  As  it  is  you're  all  I've  got  to  care  for.  And 
you  do  love  me,  baby,  ^ion't  you?  just  a  little,  little 
bit!"  And  as  she  renewed  her  fondling  embraces, 
the  tiny,  sad-visaged  creature  uttered  a  low  crooning 
sound  of  baby  satisfaction  in  response  to  her  endear- 
ments—  a  sound  more  sweet  to  her  ears  than  the 
most  exquisite  music,  and  which  brought  a  smile  to 
her  mouth  and  a  pathos  to  her  dark  eyes,  rendering 
her  face  for  the  moment  almost  beautiful.  Holding 
the  child  closely  to  her  breast,  she  looked  cautiously 
out  of  her  narrow  window,  and  perceived  that  the 
connubial  fight  was  over.  From  the  shouts  of  laugh- 
ter and  plaudits  that  reached  her  ears  Joe  Mawks  had 
evidently  won  the  day;  his  wife  had  disappeared  from 
the  field.  She  saw  the  little  crowd  dispersing,  most 
of  those  who  composed  it  entering  the  gin-shop,  and 
very  soon  the  alley  was  comparatively  quiet  and  de- 
serted. By  and  by  she  heard  her  name  called  in  a  low 
voice:  "Liz!  Liz!" 

She  looked  down  and  saw  the  old  man  who  had 
promised  her  his  protection  in  case  Mother  Mawks 
should  persecute  her.  "Is  that  you,  Jim?  Come  up- 
ftairs,  it's  better  than  talking  out  there."  He  obeyed. 


The  HiredJBaby  19 

and  stood  before  her  in  the  wretched  room,  looking 
curiously  both  at  her  and  the  baby.  A  wiry,  wolfish- 
faced  being  was  Jim  Duds,  as  he  was  familiarly  called, 
though  his  own  name  was  the  aristocratic  and  singu- 
larly inappropriate  one  of  James  Douglas;  he  was 
more  like  an  animal  than  a  human  creature,  with  his 
straggling  gray  hair,  bushy  beard,  and  sharp  teeth 
protruding  like  fangs  from  beneath  his  upper  lip. 
His  profession  was  that  of  an  area-thief,  and  he  con- 
sidered it  a  sufficiently  respectable  calling. 

"Mother  Mawks  has  got  it  this  time,"  he  said,  with 
a  grin,  which  was  more  like  a  snarl.  "Joe's  blood 
was  up  and  he  pounded  her  nigh  into  a  jelly.  She'll 
leave  ye  quiet  now;  so  long  as  ye  pay  the  hire  reg'lar 
ye'll  have  Joe  on  yer  side.  If  so  be  as  there's  a  bad 
day,  ye'd  better  not  come  home  at  all." 

"I  know,"  said  Liz,  "but  she's  always  had  the 
money  for  the  child,  and  surely  it  wasn't  much  to  ask 
her  to  let  me  keep  it  warm  on  such  a  cold  night  as 
this." 

Jim  Duds  looked  meditative.  "Wot  makes  yer 
Rare  for  that  babby  so  much?"  he  asked.  "  'Taint 
your'n." 

Liz  sighed. 

"No!"  she  said,  sadly.  "That's  true.  But  it 
seems  something  to  hold  on  to  like.  See  what  my 
life  has  been!"  She  stopped,  and  a  wave  of  color 
flushed  her  pallid  features.  "  From  a  little  girl,  noth- 
ing but  the  streets  —  the  long  cruel  streets!  and  I 
just  a  bit  of  dirt  on  the  pavement  —  no  more;  flung 
here,  flung  there,  and  at  last  swept  into  the  gutter. 
All  dark— all  useless!"  She  laughed  a  little.  "Fan, 
cy,  Jim!  I've  never  seen  the  country!" 


fcO  The  Hired  Baby 

i 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Jim,  biting  a  piece  of  straw  reflect* 
ively.  "It  must  be  powerful  fine,  with  naught  but 
green  trees  an'  posies  a-blowin'  an'  a-growin'  every- 
jrfieres.  There  ain't  many  kitching  areas  there, 
though,  I'm  told." 

Liz  went  on,  scarcely  heeding  him:  "The  baby 
seems  to  me  like  what  the  country  must  be  —  all 
harmless  and  sweet  and  quiet;  when  I  hold  it  so,  my 
heart  gets  peaceful  somehow  —  I  don't  know  why." 

Again  Jim  looked  speculative  .  He  waved  his  bitten 
straw  expressively. 

"  Ye've  had  'sperience,  Liz.  Hain't  ye  met  no  man 
like,  wot  ye  could  care  fur?" 

Liz  trembled  and  her  eyes  grew  wild. 

"Men!"  she  cried  with  bitterest  scorn  —  "no  men 
Ifaave  come  my  way,  only  brutes!" 

Jim  stared,  but  was  silent;  he  had  no  fit  answer 
/eady.  Presently  Liz  spoke  again  more  softly: 

"Jim.  do  you  know  I  went  into  a  great  church  to- 
day?" 

*  Worse  luck!"  said  Jim,  sententiously.  "Church 
Ain't  no  use  nohow  as  fur  as  I  can  see." 

"There  was  a  figure  there,  Jim,"  went  on  Liz, 
earnestly,  "of  a  vWoman  holding  up  a  Baby,  and  peo- 
ple knelt  down  before  it.  What  do  you  s'pose  it 


"Can't  say!"  replied  the  puzzled  Jim.  "Are  ye 
sun  'twas  a  church?  Most  like  'twas  a  moo'seum." 

"No,  no!"  said  Liz.  "  'Twas  a  church  for  certain; 
there  were  folks  praying  in  it." 

l>Ah,  well!"  growled  Jim,  gruffly,  "much  goo<J 
may  it  do  'em!  I'm  not  of  the  prayin'  sort.  A 
wcnnan  an'  a  babby,  did  ye  say?  Don't  ye  get  suck 


The  Hired  Baby  21 

cranky  notions  into  yer  bead,  Liz !  Women  an"  bab- 
bies are  common  enough  —  too  common  by  a  long 
thalk,  an'  as  for  prayin'  to  'em  —  "  Jim's  utter  con- 
tempt and  incredulity  were  too  great  for  further  ex- 
pression, and  he  turned  away,  wishing  her  a  curt 
"Good-night!" 

"Good-night!"  said  Liz,  softly,  and  long  after  he 
had  left  her,  she  still  sat  silent,  thinking,  thinking, 
with  the  baby  asleep  in  her  arms,  listening  to  the  rain 
as  it  dripped,  dripped  heavily,  like  clods  falling  on  a 
coffin-lid.  She  was  not  a  good  woman  —  far  from  it. 
Her  very  motive  in  hiring  the  infant  at  so  much  a  day 
was  entirely  inexcusable  —  it  was  simply  to  gain 
money  upon  false  pretenses,  by  exciting  more  pity 
than  would  otherwise  have  been  bestowed  on  her 
had  she  begged  for  herself  alone,  without  a  child  in 
her  arms.  At  first  she  had  carried  the  baby  about  to 
serve  as  a  mere  trick  of  her  trade,  but  the  warm  feel  of 
its  little  helpless  body  against  her  bosom  day  after 
day  had  softened  her  heart  toward  its  innocence  and 
pitiful  weakness,  and  at  last  she  had  grown  to  love  it, 
with  a  strange,  intense  passion  —  so  much  that  she 
would  willingly  have  sacrificed  her  life  for  its  sake. 
She  knew  that  its  own  parents  cared  nothing  for  it, 
except  for  the  money  it  brought  them  through  her 
hands,  and  often  wild  plans  would  form  in  her  poor 
tired  brain  —  plans  of  running  away  with  it  alto- 
gether from  the  roaring,  devouring  city,  to  some 
sweet,  humble  country  village,  there  to  obtain  work, 
and  devote  herself  to  making  this  little  child  happy. 
Poor  Liz!  Poor,  bewildered,  heart-broken  Liz.  Ig- 
norant London  heathen  as  she  was,  '•here  was  one  fra- 
grant flower  blossoming  in  the  desert  of  her  soiled  and 


22  The  Hired  Baby 

wasted  existence  —  the  flower  of  a  pure  and  guileless 
.love  for  one  of  those  "little  ones"  of  whom  it  hath 
been  said  by  an  All-Pitying  Divinity  unknown  to  her: 
"Suffer  them  to  come  unto  Me,  and  forbid  them  not, 
for  of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven." 

The  dreary  winter  days  crept  on  apace,  and  as  they 
drew  near  Christmas,  dwellers  in  the  streets  leading 
off  the  Strand  grew  accustomed  of  nights  to  hear  the 
plaintive  voice  of  a  woman  singing  in  a  peculiarly 
thrilling  and  pathetic  manner  some  of  the  old  songs 
and  ballads  familiar  and  dear  to  the  heart  of  every 
Englishman— "The  Banks  of  Allan  Water,"  "The 
Bailiff's  Daughter,"  "Sally  in  our  Alley,"  "The  Last 
Rose  of  Summer,"  all  these  well-loved  ditties  she  sung 
one  after  the  other,  and  though  her  notes  were  neithei 
fresh  nor  powerful,  they  were  true  and  often  tender, 
more  particularly  in  the  hackneyed  but  still  capti- 
vating melody  of  "Home,  Sweet  Home."  Windows 
were  opened  and  pennies  freely  showered  on  the  street- 
vocalist,  who  was  accompanied  in  all  her  wanderings 
by  a  fragile  infant,  which  she  seemed  to  carry  with 
especial  care  and  tenderness.  Sometimes,  too,  in  the 
bleak  afternoons,  she  would  be  seen  wending  aer  way 
through  mud  and  mire,  setting  her  weary  face  against 
the  bitter  east  wind,  and  patiently  singing  on  —  and 
motherly  women  coming  from  the  gay  shops  and  stores 
where  they  had  been  purchasing  Christmas  toys  for 
their  own  children  would  often  stop  to  look  at  the 
baby's  pinched  white  features  with  pity,  and  would 
say,  while  giving  their  spare  pennies,  "Poor  little 
thing!  Is  it  not  very  ill? "  And  Liz,  her  heart  freez- 
ing with  sudden  terror,  would  exclaim  hurriedly, 
44  Oh,  no,  no!  It  is  always  pale;  it  is  just  a  little  bit 


The  Hired  Baby  23 

weak,  that's  all!"  And  the  kindly  questioners, 
touched  by  the  large  despair  of  her  dark  eyes,  would 
pass  on  and  say  no  more.  And  Christmas  came  — • 
the  birthday  of  the  Child-Christ  —  a  feast,  the  sacred 
meaning  of  which  was  unknown  to  Liz ;  she  only  rec- 
ognized it  as  a  sort  of  large  and  somewhat  dull  bank- 
holiday,  when  all  London  devoted  itself  to  church- 
going  and  the  eating  of  roast  beef  and  plum,1  pudding. 
The  whole  thing  was  incomprehensible  to  her  mind, 
but  even  her  sad  countenance  was  brighter  than  usual 
en  Christmas  eve,  and  she  felt  almost  gay,  for  had  she 
not,  by  means  of  a  little  extra  starvation  on  her  own 
part,  been  able  to  buy  a  wondrous  gold  and  crimson 
worsted  bird  suspended  from  an  elastic  string,  a  bird 
•which  bobbed  up  and  down  to  command  in  the  most 
lively  and  artistic  manner?  And  had  not  her  hired 
baby  actually  laughed  at  the  clumsy  toy?  laughed  an 
elfish  and  weird  laugh,  the  first  it  had  ever  indulged 
in?  And  Liz  had  laughed  too,  for  pure  gladness  in 
the  child's  mirth,  and  the  worsted  bird  became  a  sort 
of  uncouth  charm  to  make  them  both  merry. 

But  after  Christmas  had  come  and  gone,  and  the 
melancholy  days,  the  last  beating  of  the  failing  pulse 
of  the  Old  Year  throbbed  slowly  and  heavily  away, 
the  baby  took  upon  its  wan  visage  a  strange  expres- 
sion —  the  solemn  expression  of  worn-out  and  suffer- 
ing age.  Its  blue  eyes  grew  more  solemnly  specu- 
lative and  dreamy,  and  after  a  while  it  seemed  to  lose 
all  taste  for  the  petty  things  of  this  world  and  the  low 
desires  of  mere  humanity.  It  lay  very  quiet  in  Liz's 
arms;  it  never  cried,  and  was  no  longer  fretful,  and  it 
Seemed  to  listen  with  a  sort  of  mild  approval  to  the 
tones  *»f  her  voice  as  they  rang  out  in  the  dreary 


24  The  Hired  Baby 

streets  through  which,  by  day  and  night,  she  pa- 
tiently wandered.  By  and  by  the  worsted  bird,  too, 
fell  out  of  favor;  it  jumped  and  glittered  in  vain;  the 
baby  surveyed  it  with  an  unmoved  air  of  superior  wis- 
dom, just  as  if  it  had  suddenly  found  out  what  real 
birds  were  like,  and  was  not  to  be  deceived  into  ac- 
cepting so  poor  an  imitation  of  nature.  Liz  grew 
uneasy,  but  she  had  no  one  in  whom  to  confide  her 
fears.  She  had  been  very  regular  in  her  payments  to 
Mother  Mawks,  and  that  irate  lady,  kept  in  order  by 
her  bull-dog  of  a  husband,  had  been  of  late  very  con- 
tented to  let  her  have  the  child  without  further  inter- 
ference. Liz  knew  well  enough  that  no  one  in  the  mis- 
erable alley  where  she  dwelt  would  care  whether  the 
baby  were  ill  or  not.  They  would  tell  her,  "  the  more 
sickly  the  better  for  your  trade."  Besides,  she  was 
jealous  —  she  could  not  endure  the  idea  of  any  one 
touching  or  tending  it  but  herself.  Children  were 
often  ailing,  she  thought,  and  if  left  to  themselves 
without  doctor's  stuff  they  recovered  sometimes  more 
quickly  than  they  had  sickened.  Thus  soothing  her 
inward  tremors  as  best  she  might,  she  took  more  care 
than  ever  of  her  frail  charge,  stinting  herself  that  she 
might  nourish  it,  though  the  baby  seemed  to  care  less 
and  less  for  mundane  necessities,  and  only  submitted 
to  be  fed,  as  it  were,  under  patient  and  silent  protest. 
And  so  the  sands  in  Time's  hour-glass  ran  slowly 
but  surely  away,  and  it  was  New  Year's  eve.  Liz  had 
wandered  about  all  day  singing  her  little  repertoire  of 
ballads  in  the  teeth  of  a  cruel,  snow-laden  wind  —  so 
cruel,  that  people,  otherwise  charitably  disposed,  had 
shut  close  their  doors  and  windows,  and  had  not  even 
beard  her  voice.  Thus  the  last  span  of  the  Old  Year 


The  Hired  Baby  25 

had  proved  most  unprofitable  and  dreary;  she  had 
gained  no  more  than  sixpence;  how  could  she  return 
with  only  that  humble  amount  to  face  Mother  Mawks 
and  her  vituperative  fury?  Her  throat  ached  —  she 
was  very  tired,  and  as  the  night  darkened  from  pale 
to  deep  and  starless  shadows,  she  strolled  mechan- 
ically from  the  Strand  to  the  Embankment,  and  after 
walking  some  little  distance  she  sat  down  in  a  corner 
close  to  Cleopatra's  Needle — that  mocking  obelisk 
that  has  looked  upon  the  decay  of  empires,  itself  im- 
passive, and  that  still  appears  to  say,  "Pass  on,  ye 
puny  generations!  I,  a  mere  carven  block  of  stone, 
shall  outlive  you  all!"  For  the  first  time  in  all  her 
experience  the  child  in  her  arms  seemed  a  heavy  bur- 
den. She  put  aside  her  shawl  and  surveyed  it  ten, 
derly;  it  was  fast  asleep,  a  small,  peaceful  smile  on 
Its  thin,  quiet  face.  Thoroughly  worn  out  herself, 
she  leaned  her  head  against  the  damp  stone  wall  be- 
hind her,  and  clasping  the  infant  tightly  to  her  breast, 
she  also  slept  —  the  heavy,  dreamless  sleep  of  utter 
fatigue  and  physical  exhaustion.  The  solemn  night 
mpved  on,  a  night  of  black  vapors;  the  pageant  of  the 
Old  Year's  death-bed  was  unbrightened  by  so  much 
as  a  single  star.  None  of  the  hurrying  passers-by 
perceived  the  weary  woman  where  she  slept  in  that 
obscure  corner,  and  for  a  long  while  she  rested  there 
undisturbed.  Suddenly  a  vivid  glare  of  light  dazzled 
her  eyes;  she  started  to  her  feet  half  asleep,  but  still 
instinctively  retaining  the  infant  in  her  close  embrace. 
A  dark  form,  buttoned  to  the  throat,  and  holding  a 
brilliant  bull's-eye  lantern,  stood  before  her. 

"Come,  now,"  said  this  personage,  "this  won't  dot 
Move  on!" 


20  The  Hired  Baby  \ 

Liz  smiled  faintly  and  apologetically. 

"All  right!"  she  answered,  striving  to  speak  cheer- 
fully and  raising  her  eyes  to  the  policeman's  good- 
natured  countenance,  "I  didn't  mean  to  fall  asleep 
here.  I  don't  know  how  I  came  to  do  it.  I  must  go 
home,  of  course." 

"O/ course!"  said  the  policeman,  somewhat  molli- 
fied by  her  evident  humility,  and  touched  in  spite  of 
himself  by  the  pathos  of  her  eyes.  Then  turning  his 
lamp  more  fully  upon  her,  he  continued,  "Is  that  a 
baby  you've  got  there?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Liz,  half  proudly,  half  tenderly.  "Poor 
little  dear!  it's  been  ailing  sadly  —  but  I  think  it's 
better  now  than  it  was." 

•And,  encouraged  by  his  friendly  tone,  she  opened 
the  folds  of  her  shawl  to  show  him  her  one  treasure. 
The  bull's-eye  came  into  still  closer  requisition,  as  the 
kindly  guardian  of  the  peace  peered  inquiringly  at 
the  tiny  bundle.  He  had  scarcely  looked  when  he 
started  back  with  an  exclamation: 

"God  bless  my  soul"  he  cried,  "it's  dead!" 

"Dead!"  shrieked  Liz,  "oh,  no,  no!  Not  dead! 
Don't  say  so,  oh,  don't,  don't  say  so!  Oh,  you  can't 
mean  it!  Oh,  for  God's  love  say  you  didn't  mean  it! 
It  can't  be  dead,  not  really  dead  —  no,  no,  indeed! 
Oh,  baby,  baby!  You  are  not  dead,  my  pet,  my  an- 
gel, not  dead,  oh,  no!" 

And  breathless,  frantic  with  fear,  she  felt  the  little 
thing's  hands  and  feet  and  face,  kissed  it  wildly  and 
called  it  by  a  thousand  endearing  names,  in  vain  — 
in  vain!  Its  tiny  body  was  already  stiff  and  rigid;  it 
had  been  a  corpse  more  than  two  hours. 

The  policeman  coughed,   and  brushed  his  thick 


The  Hired  Baby  27 

gauntlet  glove  across  his  eyes.  He  was  an  emissary 
of  the  law,  but  he  had  a  heart.  He  thought  of  his 
bright-eyed  wife  at  home,  and  of  the  soft-cheeked 
cuddling  little  creature  that  clung  to  her  bosom  and 
crowed  with  rapture  whenever  he  came  near. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  very  gently,  laying  one  hand 
on  the  woman's  shoulder  as  she  crouched  shivering 
against  the  wall  and  staring  piteously  at  the  motion- 
less waxen  form  in  her  arms,  "it's  no  use  fretting 
about  it."  He  paused  —  there  was  an  uncomfort- 
able lump  in  his  throat  and  he  had  to  cough  again  to 
get  it  down.  "The  poor  little  creature's  gone  — 
there's  no  help  for  it.  The  next  world's  a  better 
place  than  this,  you  know!  There,  there!  don't  take 
on  so  about  it "  —  this  as  Liz  shuddered  and  sighed  — 
a  sigh  of  such  complete  despair  that  it  went  straight 
to  his  honest  soul  and  showed  him  how  futile  were  his 
efforts  at  consolation.  But  he  had  his  duty  to  attend 
to,  and  he  went  on  in  firmer  tones:  "Now,  like  a 
good  woman,  you  just  move  off  from  here  and  go 
home.  If  I  leave  you  here  by  yourself  a  bit,  will  you 
promise  me  to  go  straight  home?  I  mustn't  find  you 
here  when  I  come  back  on  this  beat,  d'ye  understand?" 
Liz  nodded.  "That's  right!"  he  resumed,  cheerily, 
"I'll  give  you  just  ten  minutes;  you  just  go  straight 
home." 

And  with  a  "Good  night,"  uttered  in  accents  meant 
to  be  comforting,  he  turned  away  and  paced  on,  his 
measured  tread  echoing  on  the  silence  at  first  loudly, 
then  fainter  and  fainter,  till  it  altogether  died  away, 
as  his  bulky  figure  disappeared  in  the  distance.  Left 
to  herself,  Liz  rose  from  her  crouching  posture;  rock- 
ing the  dead  child  in  her  arms,  she  smiled. 


28  The  Hired  Baby 

"Go  straight  home!"  she  murmured,  half  aloud, 
"Home,  sweet  home!  Yes,  baby;  yes,  my  darling, 
we  will  go  home  together!" 

And  creeping  cautiously  along  in  the  shadows,  she 
reached  a  flight  of  the  broad  stone  steps  leading  down 
to  the  river.  She  descended  them  one  by  one;  the 
black  water  lapped  against  them  heavily,  heavily; 
the  tide  was  full  up.  She  paused;  a  sonorous,  deep- 
toned  iron  voice  rang  through  the  air  with  reverber- 
ating, solemn  melody.  It  was  the  great  bell  of  St. 
Paul's  tolling  midnight  —  the  Old  Year  was  dead. 

"Straight  home!"  she  repeated,  with  a  beautiful 
expectant  look  in  her  wild,  weary  eyes.  "My  little 
darling!  Yes,  we  are  both  tired,  we  will  go  home! 
Home,  sweet  home!  We  will  go!" 

Kissing  the  cold  face  of  the  baby  corpse  she  held, 
she  threw  herself  forward;  there  followed  a  sullen 
deep  splash  — a  slight  struggle  —  and  all  was  over! 
The  water  lapped  against  the  steps  heavily,  heavily 
as  before;  the  policeman  passed  once  more,  and  saw 
to  his  satisfaction  that  the  coast  was  clear;  through 
the  dark  veil  of  the  sky  one  star  looked  out  and 
twinkled  for  a  brief  instant,  then  disappeared  again. 
A  clash  and  clamor  of  bells  startled  the  brooding 
night  —  here  and  there  a  window  was  cpeaed  and 
figures  appeared  in  balconies  to  listen.  They  were 
ringing  in  the  New  Year  —  the  festival  of  hope,  the 
birthday  of  the  world !  But  what  were  New  Years  to 
her  who,  with  white,  upturned  face  and  arms  that  em- 
braced an  infant  in  the  tenacious  grip  of  death,  went 
drifting,  drifting  solemnly  down  the  dark  river,  un- 
seen, unpitied  of  all  those  who  awoke  to  new  hopes  and 
aspirations  on  that  first  morning  of  another  life-pro- 


The  Hired  Baby  29  <• 

bation!  Liz  had  gone  —  gone  to  make  her  peace 
with  God  —  perhaps  through  the  aid  of  her  "hired" 
baby  -—  the  little  sinless  soul  she  had  so  fondly  cher- 
ished, gone  to  that  sweetest  "home"  we  dream  of  and 
pray  for,  where  the  lost  and  bewildered  wanderers  on 
this  earth  shall  find  true  welcome  and  rest  from  grief 
and  exile  —  gone  to  that  fair,  far  Glory-World  where 
reigns  the  Divine  Master  whose  words  still  ring  above 
the  tumult  of  ages:  "See  that  you  despise  not  one 
of  these  little  ones,  for  I  say  unto  you  that  their  angels 
do  always  behold  the  face  of  My  Father  who  is  in 
heaven!" 


YBB  1N». 


Boy  Scouts 

—  SERIES  =— 

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AND  INSTRUCTIVE  BOOKS 


WRITTEN  BY 

That  Great  Nature  Authority  and 
Eminent  Scout  Master 

G.    HARVEY 
R ALPHSON 

of  the  Black  Bear  Patrol 

The  eight  following  great  titles  are 
now  ready,  printed  from  large,  clear 
type  on  a  superior  quality  of  paper, 
embellished  with  original  illustra- 
tions by  eminent_  artists,  and  bound 
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Patriotic  Recitations  and  Readings 

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With  Directions  How  To  Write  Them 

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1  Adrift  in  New  York 

2  Andy  Gordon 

3  Andy  Grant's  Pluck 

4  Bob  Burton 

5  Bound  to  Rise 

6  Brave  and  Bold 

7  Cash  Boy,  The 

8  Charlie  Codman's  Cruise 

9  Chester  Rand 

10  Cousin's  Conspiracy,  A 

11  Do  and  Dare 

12  Driven  From  Home 

13  Erie  Train  Boy 

14  Facing  the  World 

15  Five  Hundred  Dollars 

16  Frank's  Campaign 

17  Grit;  The  Young  Boatman 

18  Herbert  Carter's  Legacy 

19  Hector's  Inheritance 

20  Helping  Himself 

21  In  a  New  World 

22  Jack's  Ward 

23  Jed,  the  Poor  House  Boy 

24  Joe's  Luck 

25  Julius,  the  Street  Boy 

26  Luke  Walton 

27  Making  His  Way 

28  Mark  Mason's  Victory 

29  Only  an  Irish  Boy 


Alger  Series 

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30  Paul  Prescott's  Charge 

31  Paul,  the  Peddler 

32  Phil,  the  Fiddler 

33  Ralph  Raymond's  Heir 

34  Risen  from  the  Ranks 

35  Sam's  Chance 

36  Shifting  for  Himself 

37  Sink  or  Swim 

38  Slow  and  Sure 

39  Store  Boy,  The 

40  Strive  and  Succeed 

41  Strong  and  Steady 

42  Struggling  Upward 

43  Telegraph  Boy,  The 

44  Tin  Box,  The 

45  Tom,  the  Boot  Black 

46  Tony,  the  Tramp 

47  Try  and  Trust 

48  Wait  and  Hope 
Walter  She_rwood*s 

Probation 
Wren  Winter's   Triumph 

51  Young  Acrobat 

52  Young  Adventurer,  The 

53  Young  Explorer 

54  Young  Miner 

55  Young  Musician 

56  Young  Outlaw 

57  Young  Salesman 


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